Together In Paris Part Two
by autumnrose2010
Summary: Takes place several years after Nicholas and Alexandra are reunited and Rachel gives birth to her and Alexei's second child. More adventure and romance await the Romanovs and their extended family.
1. A Long Lost Cousin

Background Information

Olga and Pasha's children:

Nicholas, 13

Oxana, 10

Tatiana and Mitya's children:

Alexander, 13

Anatoly, 11

Maria and Jules' children:

Luc, 12

Lara, 12

Charles, 10

Joseph, 8

Zoya, 6

Anna, 4

Denis, 2

Anastasia and Dimitri's children:

Kira, 13

Inessa, 9

Nikita, 6

Alexei and Rachel's children:

Alena, 5

Michael, 3

Zoya's children:

Nicholas, 21

Alexandra 'Sasha', 17

Matthew, 3

Anastasia was relaxing at home when she heard the knock on the door. Peeking through the peep hole, she saw the red hair and knew exactly who her visitor was. "Zoya!" she exclaimed, flinging the door open. A moment later, her cousin was in her arms. "I thought you'd perished in the Revolution!"

"Grandmother and I were the only ones who survived," Zoya replied. "This is my son, Matthew."

Anastasia had seen that her cousin was holding a young boy of about two or three. "Please, come in and tell me everything."

Zoya and Matthew entered the living room and sat down on the sofa. Anastasia poured two mugs of steaming coffee and brought them into the living room, where she handed one to Zoya. "Nicolai was killed in battle, and our house burned down with Mother inside it a couple of days later," Zoya began.

"How dreadful!" Anastasia gasped.

"Grandmother and I escaped to Paris in a troika, and I went to work as a ballerina to support us," Zoya continued. "We lived in a tiny apartment and had barely enough to eat. Then I met Clayton Andrews. He was an American soldier stationed in Paris. We fell in love, but then he had to go back to the United States. Not too long after that, Grandmother fell ill and died. I'd just about given up and accepted my dismal fate when one day, Clayton and I bumped into one another again. We married soon afterwards and fled to New York."

"We were very happy for ten years. We had a son, Nicholas, and a daughter, Alexandra. Then the stock market crashed. Clayton was so shocked and heartbroken that he had a heart attack and died right after that. The children and I were left totally penniless, and I had to go to work as a dancer at a burlesque so that we wouldn't starve. One night I was at work when the apartment caught on fire with the children inside it. They barely made it out in time. After that, I went to work for a woman named Axelle who owned a boutique."

"One year, I went with her to Paris to purchase clothing for the boutique and met Simon Hirsch. I didn't know it at the time, but he was a very wealthy cloth merchant. He returned to New York with us and helped me set up my own boutique."

"My boutique was very successful, and several years after it opened, I found out that I was pregnant with Matthew. I was really upset about it as I hadn't planned on having any more children, but Simon was happy to become a biological father. Now I'm really happy we had Matthew. I couldn't imagine my life without him."

"He was only a couple of years old when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. Simon joined the army and was killed in Europe a few weeks ago. After that happened, I decided that New York just holds too many painful memories for me, so I wanted to join you all here in Paris. I'd heard of your miraculous resurrection and have wanted very badly to see you again since then, and now's my chance."

"As we've all been wondering whatever became of you, especially Maria." Zoya and Maria had been born only two weeks apart and had always been especially close. "Oh! I have to call the others and tell them you're here."

All Anastasia's siblings and her parents still lived in Paris. Pasha, Mitya, Jules, Dimitri, and Alexei were all away fighting the Nazis, leaving their wives and children to carry on without them. Alexei no longer suffered from hemophilia and so was able to fight alongside his adopted countrymen.

"Oh, how I long to see my darling Mashka again!" Zoya cried. "The others too, of course, but you know how my Mashka has always had a special place in my heart."

"You'll see them all again very soon," Anastasia promised. "Your son is adorable!"

"Thank you."

"And where are your other children?"

"Nicky's flying bombers in England, and Sasha's in boarding school in New York. She's planning to attend college in Palm Beach in Florida after she graduates."

"That's great!"

"And how are your own children?"

"Fine. They're in school now. Kira's thirteen, Inessa's nine, and Nikita's six. He's so proud of himself now that he's lost his first tooth."

"I remember going through that with Nicky and Sasha," Zoya chuckled.

Maria was first to arrive. She and Zoya both shrieked with joy as they tumbled into one another's arms. "I thought I'd lost you forever!" Zoya exclaimed.

"And I, you," Maria replied. "On that dreadful night in the basement of the Ipatiev House, my very last thought was of you. How I hoped you'd survived and escaped! Then after we all returned, I thought of you often and hoped to hear word of you, but I never did."

Nicholas and Alexandra arrived next. "Uncle Nicky! Aunt Alix!" Zoya cried as she flung herself into their arms.

"It's so good to see you again, dear," said Alexandra. As she held her distant cousin by marriage, the years seemed to melt away and they were once again in the Alexandra Palace in Tsarskoe Selo.

Olga and Tatiana showed up together shortly afterwards. "We're all here now," said Tatiana. "We'd all love to hear your story, and in return, we'll tell you ours."

"Very well," Zoya replied.


	2. Saying Good-bye To Dimitri

Zoya related her story to her cousins, and they all expressed their sympathy for the loss of her two husbands. Then Tatiana told her own story. "When we came back, we found ourselves standing in the woods of Yekaterinburg," she began. "All of us were there except Nastya. We all wondered where she was, and then Alyosha remembered that Grandmama had given her a necklace with the words 'Together in Paris' engraved on it, so we all headed there. When we finally reached Paris, we met up with a nice family, the Marceaus. They told us where Grandmama and Nastya lived, and we were reunited with them."

"Things were great for a few years," Anastasia continued. "Olga was reunited with Pasha, Tatiana was reunited with Mitya, Maria met Jules, and Alyosha met Rachel. Then Vova entered our lives. He's our distant cousin, and the son of..." She leaned toward Zoya, and her voice was almost a whisper. "Mathilde Kschessinska."

"Oh my goodness!" gasped Zoya. "That must have been so awkward for you all!"

"It was _very_ awkward for us," said Olga, who'd always been the most sensitive of the five siblings. "Anyway, he had this crazy plan to assassinate Stalin, overthrow the Communists, and install Alyosha as the new Tsar. We all knew that it would never work, and we tried to tell him that, but he wouldn't listen. He tried to blackmail us into going along with it by kidnapping Rachel, but luckily, with the help of Dimitri, Alyosha rescued her."

"How did he do that?"

Olga leaned toward Zoya conspiratorially. "Dimitri gave him a gun, and he shot Vova."

"So he killed him, then?"

"No, he only shot him in the thigh. He's got a really nasty scar now, and he still limps a bit, but he knows not to ever try anything like that again."

"You mean you didn't press charges against him?"

"He _is_ family," said Maria. "Just like you and me. Besides, we couldn't do that to Mathilde. She really is a nice lady."

"You mean you've actually _met_ her?"

"She came to Alyosha afterwards, hoping that he could help her get some letters back, letters our father had written to her when...well, anyway, Vova had been going to use them to blackmail us before he kidnapped Rachel, but Dimitri and Nastya broke into his house and took them so he couldn't."

"Sounds like something they'd do," Zoya said approvingly. "So did he give the letters back to her?"

"He couldn't. We'd already burned them," Anastasia told her.

Zoya chuckled. "It may sound unkind, but I think that's probably for the best. So where's Vova now?"

"Mathilde had him committed to a mental hospital for a couple of years," said Tatiana. "They eventually decided he was no longer dangerous and released him, and he never bothered us again, but then this dreadful war started."

"We've been under German occupation for two years now," Olga added gloomily.

"Can't you do anything, Aunt Alix?" asked Zoya.

Alexandra shook her head. "My family lost its power when my cousin Wilhelm resigned almost twenty-four years ago. Even the SPD is helpless against this evil Hitler and his Nazis."

"At least the United States has joined us now," Nicholas put in. "President Roosevelt and Prime Minister Churchill work together well, and I think they will lead us to victory in the end. My cousin didn't like him at first, but they are on excellent terms now."

"Your cousin is a weak man and a coward, just like his father before him," Alexandra said sharply. "He can't even speak without stuttering."

"Ah, Sunny." Nicholas sighed. "Can't you simply let bygones be bygones?"

"We all would have survived if he'd never rescinded his offer of refuge in England. You know that as well as I do."

"But what difference could that possibly make now? We're all alive and well, while he's been dead these past six years, God rest his soul." Nicholas chuckled. "You remember, Zoya, how strongly he and I resembled one another. Once we wore one another's clothing all day. Everyone was so confused!"

Zoya laughed. "Yes, I remember."

"It's nice to have a moment of frivolity every now and again," Alexandra remarked. "I remember how Nastya used to keep us all in stitches in even the darkest of times, but it's just so hard to find anything to laugh about these days."

While her mother was speaking, Anastasia's mind drifted back to the day she'd said good-bye to Dimitri. "This is it, I guess," he'd said before stepping onto the train.

"You're going to just leave like that? Where's my good-bye kiss?" she'd pouted.

"Here it is." He'd turned to place a big sloppy wet one on her lips. "And here's another to tide you over until I'm home." He'd kissed her again.

"I wish this stupid war would end!" she'd fumed.

"So do I," he'd sighed.

"Please be careful!"

"Of course I will be, darling."

"If you get yourself killed, I'll kill you!"

He'd laughed.

And that had been that.


	3. Nicholas' Pen Pal

"You got another letter from Anne today," Olga told her son Nicholas as he arrived home from school one day.

"Oh, boy!" he exclaimed as his mother handed the letter to him. Oxana made kissy-kissy noises at him, and he glared at her.

Nicholas' pen pal was a girl his age named Anne Frank who lived with her parents and older sister Margot in Amsterdam. Nicholas and Anne had begun writing to one another at the beginning of the school year and had become quite close. Eagerly he ripped into the letter and began to read it.

"What's her news?" asked Olga.

"She's still doing well at the lyceum," Nicholas replied as he quickly skimmed the letter. "She says that she saw an autograph book in a store window and told her father she wants it for her birthday. She wants to use it as a diary."

"That's nice," said Olga.

"It would be great if I could go visit her this summer."

"Yes, it would be nice to have a vacation." Olga sighed.

"I'm going to Inessa's house," Oxana decided.

"Not before you finish your homework," Olga said sternly.

"You know they don't give it the last week of school." Oxana skipped out into the fresh late spring air to visit her cousin, who lived a couple of houses over. As she approached the house, Joy ran out to greet her, his tail wagging so hard that it shook his whole backside. Joy was the son of Pooka and Fifi, and he'd been named for Alexei's faithful cocker spaniel who'd kept the young invalid company during his stay at the Ipatiev House. He'd been a real comfort to the family after the loss of Pooka the previous winter.

It had been just before Christmas that Anastasia had awakened one chilly morning to find his stiff, cold body lying beside the bed. Of the three children, Nikita had taken it the hardest and had wept inconsolably for hours, despite his father's attempts to comfort him. "Fourteen years is old for a dog," Dimitri had told his son. "He lived a long, full life, and now he's gone to his reward." As her husband had dug the grave in the back yard, tears had filled Anastasia's eyes as she'd recalled the lively puppy who'd accompanied her on her trip to Paris to meet her grandmother.

"Joy!" Oxana scooped the wriggly little dog up and held him as he licked her face with enthusiasm. Inessa appeared a moment later and greeted her cousin.

"Come on, I want you to hear Kira's new record," she said. "It's Edith Piaf," she added in a whisper.

Oxana's eyes grew large. "Wow! How'd she..."

"Sh!"

The girls entered the house. "Hi, Aunt Anastasia," said Oxana.

"Hi, Oxana. How's your mother?"

"She's fine." Oxana, Inessa, and Kira went into Kira's bedroom, where Kira turned the record player on, and soon the sweet strains of 'Un coit tout bleu' filled the room. A moment later, Anastasia stuck her head in the door. Quick as a flash, Kira lifted record player's needle and stood before it smiling at her mother. Anastasia picked up the record's sleeve, which had been left lying on the bed, and grinned and winked back at her daughter.

* * *

"I know how I always said I wanted twenty children." Maria rubbed her swollen belly. "But considering how sick I've been this time around, I'm thinking I might stop at ten!"

She and Zoya were drinking tea and watching little Matthew at play with his newly found cousins, Anna and Denis. "You'll never believe this, but at first I didn't even want to have Matthew. He was completely unplanned," Zoya told her cousin. "I was working so hard at Countess Zoya's, and besides, I was so old that I was afraid something might go wrong. I even suggested to Simon that...perhaps I should get rid of it."

Maria gasped, shocked. She loved children and couldn't imagine that her cousin wouldn't want a whole houseful, as she herself did. She had to admit that, as close as they'd always been as children, there were definitely some fundamental differences between herself and Zoya.

"Simon vehemently disagreed," Zoya continued. "In retrospect, I'm ever so glad I heeded him. Matthew's been such a comfort to me. I can't imagine life without him." She gazed adoringly at her son's mop of dark curly hair that was so like his father's.

Soon Luc, Lara, Charles, Joseph, and Zoya came home from school. "Oh, is that my namesake?" asked Maria's cousin.

"It is. Come and meet the lady you were named for, darling." Maria's second daughter had long medium brown hair which she wore in two braids down her back and her mother's bright blue eyes. Her face was covered with freckles. She went to Zoya and stood before her.

"Look at you! You're beautiful!" Zoya exclaimed as she hugged the little girl.

"Thank you, ma'am," Maria's daughter said politely.

"Your Mama and I were best friends when we were your age," Zoya continued. "I used to visit her at the Winter Palace and we'd spend many happy hours playing together. Then we didn't see each other again for a really long time, and I missed her very much. I was ever so glad to see her again."

The little girl grinned, and Zoya saw that she'd inherited her grandmother's dimples. "It's lovely to meet you."


	4. Dimitri's Return

A French soldier slowly trudged home, his clothing covered with the sand of the Libyan desert, the gloom of defeat weighing heavy on his shoulders. That he should give his all for his adopted country, only to have it be for naught, was almost more than he could bear. When he next saw his wife, what would he tell her? We tried to fight them off, to keep Bir Hakeim out of Axis hands, but they were just too strong for us? How would she take that?

When Anastasia looked out the window and saw him coming, her heart leaped with joy. Quickly she dried her hands on a dish towel and dashed outside with Joy running right at her heels, barking with enthusiasm.

Dimitri saw the dog first. "Hey there, boy!" He scooped Joy up and held him, and the little dog squirmed and licked his face with abandon.

As Anastasia drew closer to her husband, she noticed how bedraggled and forlorn he looked and knew that she didn't have to ask him how the battle had ended. She hugged him silently in comfort, and he clung to her.

"Bir Hakeim has fallen to the Axis," he moaned. "The main column was blocked by troops of the 90th Light Division, and General Koenig ordered a rush. Captain Bricogne and Lieutenant Dewey are dead, blown up by mines. The British came to our rescue, but even so, we were forced to retreat." He made a sound of disgust. "Bloody Nazis."

"You sound just like a Frenchman, Dimitri."

"Well, that's what I _am_ now." What was she getting at?

"But what about Russia? They changed our beautiful St. Petersburg's name to Leningrad, you know, and the Nazis have had it under siege for almost a year now. Thousands of our beloved countrymen are starving to death."

"Our _former_ countrymen." Dimitri gave a helpless shrug. "Russia was a place I once lived. End of story."

"You said that once before, right after we met. And do you remember what I told you then?"

"You said that I must plan on making Paris my true home, and so I have, for the past fourteen years."

 _For the past fourteen years._ She too had tried her best to truly make Paris her home, and yet in the deepest recesses of her memory, she still waltzed with her father at a grand ball while horses pranced through a silver storm.

* * *

Rachel was in the bedroom sorting laundry when she heard the knock on the door. "Madame, could I interest you in one of these lovely paintbrushes?"

After a quick glance through the peep hole, she threw the door open and was instantly enveloped in Alexei's arms. Alena and Michael heard the joyful greetings and left their play to come running. "Papa's home! Papa's home!"

Alexei released his wife and gathered his children into his arms. "Let me look at you two!"

"One of my teeth came out, Papa!" Alena pulled her lower lip down to show the gap to her father.

Alexei chuckled. "Well, now, would you look at that!"

"Mama said a new one's gonna grow in soon."

"And so it shall." Alexei put his children down. "And now I've got something to show _you."_ He held his arm out so they could see the long, ragged scar on it.

"Wow!" Alena breathed.

"Mortar fire did that," her father told her. "I'm fine now, but when I was a little boy your age, Alena, a wound like this would have killed me. I had a disease called hemophilia. That meant that my blood didn't clot like it was supposed to, so any time I got hurt, even just a little bit, I might bleed to death."

"Hemo..." Alena struggled to remember the long word.

"Hemophilia." Alexei smiled. "But I don't have that anymore. It went away when I grew up."

"I'm glad, Papa!" Alena beamed.

"So am I, sweetheart."

* * *

In Liverpool, England, a nurse and midwife named Mary McCartney gave birth to her first child. There was never any question about what his first name would be. It would be James, for his father, of course, but what would his middle name be? As she gazed into her new son's round, soulful dark eyes, Mary knew that only one name would do. "I shall call him Paul," she decided.

And so 'Paul' he was.

* * *

The following month, Nicholas received a very disturbing letter from Anne. "She says Margot has been ordered to report for relocation to a work camp," he told his mother. "Her father says the family has to go into hiding now. I don't understand, Mama. Why would Margot have to report to a work camp? She's only a couple of years older than me! And why would the whole family have to go into hiding?"

Olga sighed, wondering how to explain the situation to her young son without upsetting him too much. "I know it doesn't make sense to us, but the Nazis think that Jewish people aren't as good as everyone else, and some of them are being taken from their homes and sent to camps."

"But why, Mama? They believe in the same God we do!"

Olga fondly ran her fingers through her son's unruly chestnut hair, thinking how much like his grandfather he was. "I don't know, Nicky. Who could ever understand the Nazis?"

"What happens to them when they get to the camps? Do any of them ever get to go back home again?" He suspected that he didn't really want to know.

"I honestly don't know, son. I really wish there was some way we could help your friend and her family."

* * *

"I'm so sick of seeing German soldiers everywhere," Tatiana muttered under her breath to her mother. The two women were on their way to the market to buy groceries.

"You might as well get used to it," Alexandra replied.

"I wish I was General de Gaulle." Tatiana's voice was bolder this time. "I'd toss them all out on their ears!"

Alexandra chuckled. "You and your sister would make quite a formidable team." Tatiana didn't even have to ask which sister she was talking about.

Just then a German soldier moved quickly toward Alexandra, and she gasped, frightened out of her wits. What on earth had she done?

"I was only afraid you might trip on that crack in the sidewalk." The young man's smile was friendly, and something about his merry blue eyes seemed achingly familiar to Alexandra.


	5. No More Dangerous Than Fighting Rasputin

A moment later, the young soldier gasped. "Alix of Hesse!"

"How do you know my name?" Alexandra demanded, struggling to keep her voice from shaking.

"My father was the kitchen boy at the New Palace in Darmstadt," the stranger replied. "His name was Friedrich Gaebel."

"Young Fritz!" Alexandra laughed. "Oh yes, I remember him well! He was perhaps about eight when I left for St. Petersburg to marry Nicky. He was such a cute little thing, with blond hair sticking up all over his head and the brightest blue eyes."

"He had the biggest crush on you," the young man continued. "That's how I recognized you. He saved every photograph of you he could get his hands on, and they were all displayed in prominent places around our home while I was growing up. He told us that he used to fantasize about marrying you, although of course he was much too young, and besides, as we both know, princesses don't marry kitchen boys."

"My daughter Anastasia did." Alexandra chuckled. "Please, come walk with us. If you're allowed to leave your post, that is."

"No problem at all. Gustaf will cover for me." He slipped a full pack of cigarettes to his fellow soldier, who gave him a grateful smile in return.

"Now, tell me all about your father and the rest of your family. I'm very curious as to whatever became of him."

"He joined the army in 1914 and served under General von Moltke, and then later, under General von Falkenhayn. A few years later, he married my mother, and they had six children, of which I'm the youngest. My name is Peter."

"Well...it's very nice to meet you, then...I suppose. This is my second oldest daughter, Tatiana."

"Hello, Tatiana." Peter smiled and extended his hand to her, but she frowned and shook her head. She simply couldn't believe that her mother was conversing on a Paris street with a German soldier, of all people! _Just wait until Papa finds out about this..._

Peter's smile was temporarily replaced by a puzzled expression but quickly returned. "I don't agree with any of this business, you know." Mindful of passersby, he spoke in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

 _"What_ business?" Tatiana was so surprised that she forgot to lower her voice.

"Sh!" her mother warned.

"Any of it," Peter replied. "When I answered my country's call, I thought that I was doing a great and noble thing, helping to restore Germany to its former glory. I had no idea that it was now run by a cold, heartless beast. By the time I found out what Hitler was really like, it was too late, and I was already deeply involved. Ever since I learned the truth, I've been searching for a way to redeem myself. I stand at my post as I've been ordered to do, but the whole time, I'm really trying my best to think of a way to free all the innocent civilians we've enslaved."

"I had no idea." Tatiana almost sounded as if she might cry.

"Of course not. How could you have?"

"There is, in fact, a situation which I dearly hope you can help rectify," Alexandra told Peter.

"And what is that?" The young man's eyes sparkled with interest.

"My grandson's friend in Amsterdam will soon have to go into hiding with her family. Do you suppose there would be any way to smuggle them out?"

* * *

After checking to see who was at the door, Maria swung it open wide to admit Jules' older brother, Paul. Having lost his beloved wife Alice to cancer some six months previously, Paul was a regular visitor at the home of his younger brother's family. "Come on in!" Maria cried warmly. "We've all just had our dinner, but there's plenty left over in case you're hungry."

"Oh, no. I'm fine, thanks." Paul's eyes fell on Zoya, and his jaw dropped.

"Oh, this is my cousin, Zoya Hirsch," Maria told him. "Zoya, this is my brother-in-law, Paul."

"How do you do?" Paul shook hands with the redhead, noting that she was the loveliest woman he'd seen since...why, since he'd lost Alice, he realized with a start.

"Very well, thank you." Zoya smiled at the handsome Frenchman. "This is my son, Matthew."

"Hi there!" Paul greeted the tyke, who stared at him with wide eyes from behind his mother's legs. "What a handsome little fellow you are!" He turned back to Zoya. "So is your husband also an expatriate?"

"Simon was killed in the war several months ago." Zoya's voice was barely a whisper.

"Goodness, I'm so sorry! My condolences, madame."

"Thank you. It's all right." Zoya gave a brave smile. "There's no way you could have known."

"So is it just you and Matthew, then?"

"Oh, no. I have two adult children from my first marriage. Nicholas is flying bombers in England, and Sasha starts college in Palm Beach next month. Do you have any children?"

"Two daughters and a son. My Madeleine has given me two darling grandchildren."

"Oh, that's sweet!" Zoya beamed.

Paul sighed. "If only circumstances were different, I'd love to show you around my beautiful city. Do you know why Paris is called the 'City of Light'? It's because of the gas street lights we have shining at night. We were one of the very first European cities to adopt them, more than a hundred years ago."

"That's all right. I enjoy daytime excursions as well."

"I could at least take you out to this charming little bistro up the street for lunch, although, of course, with things being the way they are, the menu selections will probably be very limited."

"Oh, that's fine. I'm not a picky eater at all."

* * *

"You may as well just go ahead and tell me." Anastasia watched from the bed as Dimitri began to undress. "You know I'll find out, anyway."

"It's no secret." Her husband didn't even smile. "I'm helping our nephew Nicky rescue his friend in Amsterdam from the Nazis."

"Oh, yeah? You and what army?"

He smirked. "As it turns out, an army of one. He's the son of an old acquaintance of your mother's from her years in Darmstadt."

"You're kidding!"

"I am _not_ kidding. His name's Peter Gable, and we're leaving just as soon as he can procure the necessary supplies."

She gasped. "But that's far too dangerous! You'll all be killed!"

"No more dangerous than fighting Rasputin."

She had no answer to that.


	6. Rescue Mission

"But it itches dreadfully!" Nicholas complained.

"Never mind that," Dimitri told his nephew. "Without it, there's no way in the world anybody would believe you're old enough to be a soldier."

Although Nicholas wore the smallest size Nazi uniform Peter had been able to find, he seemed to be swimming in it, and the fake mustache about which he'd complained balanced precariously on the skin above his upper lip.

"You know, of course, that if we're ever questioned at any point along the way, it's absolutely imperative that you let Peter do all the talking," Dimitri added.

"I _know_ that," Nicholas retorted. "You don't have to treat me like I'm Nikita's age."

"Sometimes you _act_ like you're Nikita's age," Dimitri muttered under his breath.

"Shut up, both of you!" Peter snapped. Luckily, they were the only occupants of the passenger car, but they knew that the conductor would be by to punch the tickets any time. Sure enough, he appeared less than five minutes later. He stared for just a minute at Nicholas' fake mustache, and Dimitri sweated bullets, but then the conductor smiled and clapped Nicholas on the shoulder. "It does my heart good to see a lad of such tender years showing such devotion to our fuhrer." He punched all three tickets, and Dimitri gave a tremendous sigh of relief when he finally left.

As the wheels of the train began to roll, Nicholas felt his heart soar. This was the first real adventure he'd ever been on in his life, and he intended to make the most of it. On the other hand, Peter and Dimitri, acutely aware of the danger, were eager for the journey to be over.

The train traveled north and entered Belgium, and the passengers were delighted at the sight of the gently rolling green hills dotted with the darker green of the trees and bushes and an occasional grey cottage. "Look, a windmill!" Nicholas cried.

"You'll see a lot more of those later on," Peter noted wryly.

As the train neared its destination, his words were proven correct, as it passed field after field of rows and rows of tulips in every imaginable color. Mesmerized, Nicholas stared out the window, scarcely able even to blink.

At last the train arrived at the station and they disembarked. Studying the address Nicholas had scribbled down from a piece of correspondence, they soon found the apartment building on Merwede Square in which the Franks dwelt. Nicholas could feel his heart pounding as they climbed the stairs. At last he would meet Anne in person. Would she be as pretty as she was in the photograph she'd sent him? More importantly, what would _she_ think of _him?_ Suddenly more self-conscious than ever of the much-too-large Nazi uniform and the fake mustache, he fell in step behind the others.

Peter rang the door bell, and Anne's father, Otto, answered it. His eyes widened in fear at the sight of the Nazi uniforms. "Don't be afraid," said Peter. "We've come to take you to safety."

Nicholas recognized Anne right away. She had dark brown hair and big brown eyes just like in her photograph, and she was holding a black cat, which immediately jumped from her arms and ran when it saw the three strangers. "Moortje!" Anne scolded, taking off after it, but it dashed under the sofa.

"I'll get him for you," Nicholas offered. Without a second thought, he dove after the cat, who gave him a vicious scratch on the arm before racing back to its owner.

"Ow!" Nicholas howled, then suddenly remembered where he was and who he was with. Trying to ignore the blood running down his arm, he smiled at Anne, who by now had recaptured Moortje. "Hi, I'm Nicholas."

"You don't look like Nicholas."

"Of course I don't! I had to come in disguise or I would have been caught right away."

"I thought you'd be taller."

His arm was beginning to throb. "Let me take care of that for you," offered Anne's mother, Edith. She found some disinfectant and bandages and doctored his arm.

"Thank you, ma'am." He blushed and stared at the floor.

"Moortje isn't really a mean cat. It's just that she's afraid of strangers."

"We'd better get going," said Peter.

"Oh, of course." It was the first time Margot had spoken. She looked much like her younger sister except that her hair was shorter, her face was rounder, and she wore eyeglasses. Peter smiled as he took her arm to lead her away, and she flinched.

"I promise you, I don't bite," he chuckled. Her eyes widened in surprise, but then she laughed and allowed him to take her arm. He led her down the stairs and away from the apartment, and the others followed. As soon as they were outside, he dropped her arm and suddenly pretended not to know her. She frowned but didn't say anything.

The conductor glared at them when they attempted to board the train. "Who are all these people?" he demanded.

"A Jewish family we're transporting for relocation." Peter's voice was all business.

"Why such a small group?"

"They were in hiding and avoided the most recent round-up. We only now found them, cowering in a back room of an apartment. We were tipped off that it might not have been completely empty, and sure enough, there they were." Nicholas saw that Margot's eyes were full of tears.

The conductor nodded, then saluted him. "Heil Hitler!"

Peter returned the salute. "Heil Hitler!"

Nicholas didn't find the return trip home to be nearly as exhilarating as the journey to Amsterdam had been. Once the immediate danger had passed, the depression began to settle in. He'd wanted so badly to make a good impression on Anne, and what had he done? Gotten scratched by a cat and howled like a baby. That's what he'd done. He wanted to crawl under the seat.

"What are you thinking about?" Suddenly he realized that Anne was talking to him.

"Oh! Um...I was just thinking, we sort of got off on the wrong foot, didn't we?"

"That's all right. I'll give you another chance."

"Hey, who says it was all _my_ fault?" She giggled, and he blushed again. This wasn't going at all as he'd fantasized it would go. "So, do you think you'll miss Amsterdam?" he asked in an attempt to change the subject.

"I'm going to miss Hannali Goslar and Sanne Ledermann. They've always been such good friends." She looked as if she might cry. Nicholas suddenly felt very sorry for her.

"You'll love my cousins," he told her. "Most of them are a bit younger than you, but they're lots of fun, and just wait until you meet my Aunt Anastasia. She's _really_ a riot."

Anne just stared at her hands folded in her lap without saying a word.


	7. Ice Cream

"So tell me, Zoya." Paul took a bite of his lunch. "Why did you do it? Why did you leave the United States to come over here and nearly starve to death with the Germans breathing down your neck the whole time?"

"I knew about the occupation, but I didn't care." Zoya stared at her plate, trying to decide which entree looked the least unappetizing. "I simply had to be with my Maria again. After I lost Simon, she was all I had left."

He frowned. "But what about your children?"

"Nicky's flying bomber planes in England. Sasha..." She gave a deep sigh. "I've never been able to do a thing with her. You see, Clayton was over fifty when she was born, and she was always his little princess. It was hard on all of us when he passed, but I think she took it worst of all. She became very willful and rebellious. Then Simon came along and tried to be a father to her, but she would have none of it. In fact..." She lowered her head, and he saw that her cheeks were burning with shame. "I've always suspected that she wanted a different kind of relationship with him."

"In spite of everything, I still love her very much. When I decided to come to Paris, I begged her to come with me, but she wouldn't. She wanted to stay with her friends. That hurt me, but I couldn't force her." She took a sip of the watered-down pretend champagne they'd been served.

"How did he die?" asked Paul.

"He was killed in the war."

"But wasn't he rather..."

"He was forty-five. His parents fled Russia after losing their entire family in a pogrom. Then when he found out what was being done to the European Jews, he decided that he had to do something to try and stop it," Zoya explained.

"That must have been unimaginably hard, to lose two husbands without even getting to say good-bye to them properly." Paul took a sip of his drink, then grimaced. "Alice and I were high school sweethearts. She was the only woman I'd ever loved. We had three wonderful decades together, raised three children and lived to see our grandchildren born. Then several years ago, she started feeling tired and sick all the time. The doctors couldn't do anything for her and told us to make the most of the time we had left together. She got weaker and weaker and eventually had to be hospitalized. I was sitting at her side, holding her hand, when she passed." He paused to dab his eyes with his handkerchief.

"I'm terribly sorry." Zoya placed a gentle hand on his arm.

"After I lost Alice, I thought, well, that's it. I'll never find a love like that again."

"I doubt I'll ever marry again either," Zoya agreed. "Although it _is_ nice to share lunch with a charming gentleman like yourself on such a special day."

"Is today a special day?"

"I'm forty-three years old today. To be honest, I'd almost completely forgotten about it."

"Why, happy birthday!" He grinned. "I wish I'd known beforehand. I would have brought you something."

"That's quite all right." She chuckled. "For Maria's birthday a couple of weeks ago, Jules made her a birthday blini. He had flour and saccharin but no eggs or baking powder, and when the cake was done, it looked more like a blini than a cake so that's what he called it, a birthday blini."

Paul laughed. "Well, here's your cake." He sat a Swedish turnip in the middle of the table. "And here's the ice cream." He sat a Jerusalem artichoke beside it.

Zoya giggled.

* * *

"I'm going to teach you how to be Russian Orthodox," Nicholas said to Anne, who was now known as Anna Franko. "When you pray, you cross yourself, like this." He demonstrated.

"But why do you have to do that?"

"I guess it's supposed to represent the cross Jesus died on."

"But Jews don't believe in Jesus."

Nicholas rolled his eyes, trying his best to be patient. "Like I told you, Anne..."

"I know. I can't be myself again until this madness is over with."

Nicholas laughed. "Of _course_ you're still yourself! You just have to _pretend_ to be my distant cousin. You know what? When we were in the train on the way here, it reminded me of when my Aunt Anastasia told me about coming to Paris with my Uncle Dimitri fourteen years ago. At first she couldn't remember who she was, and they quarreled all the time, but then she was reunited with her Grandmama and her memory came back, and she and Uncle Dimitri fell in love."

"Where's her Grandmama now?"

"She died when I was little."

"That's sad. My grandmother died a few months ago."

"I'm sorry."

"That's all right. I doubt she would have been able to make the journey, anyway." She moved a bit closer to him. "I'm sorry Moortje scratched you."

"It's almost healed now."

"I'm glad."

* * *

"I feel guilty about eating ice cream when nobody else can have any." As quickly as Margot was trying to eat it, her treat was still melting in the hot July sun at an alarming rate.

"No reason for you to feel guilty at all," Peter replied. "At least this dastardly uniform is good for something now and again." They were strolling together in a secluded section of the Tuileres Garden, as far from prying eyes as Peter could manage. He knew what his compatriots would assume she was if the two of them were seen together, and it angered him that anyone would think that about her.

"You know what?" She licked the drop that was just about to fall. "So far you're the only friend I have here. Anne's always had plenty of friends, but it's always been so hard for me to open up to anyone."

"Not everyone can be a social butterfly," said Peter. "I'm hardly one myself. You're a sweet girl, Margot, and I enjoy your company very much."

A young man appeared and sat cross-legged on a nearby bench. He took out a harmonica and began to play. The song he played was _'Muss I Denn.'_ Peter took Margot's elbow and steered her toward the opposite end of the garden.

"Why are you so quiet?" she asked after awhile.

"I was just thinking about the Orangerie Garten. I'd love for you to see it someday."

"We lived in Frankfurt when I was a little girl," she told him. "When the Nazis came to power, things got pretty bad for us. We moved to Amsterdam when I wasn't quite eight." Her ice cream finished, she cupped a flower in her hand. "Peter...have you ever been with a woman?"

He was silent, thinking of the last time he'd heard Edith Piaf perform. A long time ago, there had been Beate, for whom he'd felt youthful curiosity mixed with lust but nothing deeper. Since his arrival in France, he'd sampled the Parisian nightlife a handful of times, finding temporary physical pleasure but no lasting respite from his loneliness.

"I'm sorry," Margot was saying. "I had no right to ask such a personal question."

"That's quite all right, but what does it matter?"

"It doesn't matter at all, of course. Some day you'll marry a lovely German woman, one who's tall and blonde and blue-eyed like you are, and that's as it should be." She looked up at him, and he saw that there were tears in her eyes. "We would have been caught and sent to a camp if you hadn't rescued us, and if you'd been found out, you would have been executed. You risked your own life to save ours, and that's something I'll never, ever forget."

His hands cupped her face as his thumbs wiped her tears away and he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "I'd best get you back home now." His voice was gruff.

"I said something wrong, didn't I?"

"Oh no, not at all! It's simply that it's getting late and I don't want your parents to worry about you." The sun was still high in the sky as they began to walk toward Dimitri and Anastasia's home, where the Franks were temporarily staying. He took her hand and squeezed it as they said good-bye to one another.

"Thanks for the ice cream," she said.

"Sure. Anytime."

"We'll see one another again soon, I hope."

"Of course we will." He watched until she was safely inside before turning to leave. How he longed to take her into his arms and tell her how he really felt about her! If only she were a little older...

A couple of years seemed like an eternity to him.


	8. Heartbreak

Less than a week after the meager birthday lunch shared by Paul and Zoya, Maria and Jules were awakened at the break of dawn by frantic pounding on their front door. Jules opened it to find his Uncle Maurice and Aunt Cecile standing there with a group of people he didn't recognize. He knew that they were Jewish because of the yellow six-pointed stars attached to their clothing.

"This is Sam and Ruth Landau and their children, Jacob and Hannah," Aunt Cecile began. "They live on our street, and their lives are in danger. Early this morning, the French police began rounding up all the Jews. I heard they're being taken to the Winter Velodrome. Maurice and I have taken in as many people as our home can possibly hold. I know it's asking a lot, but could the Landaus possibly stay here, at least until the danger's over?"

"Why, of course they can!" Even with seven children in the home, in addition to Zoya and Matthew, tender-hearted Maria couldn't bear the thought of turning the family away. "Come on in. We'll find room for you."

"I don't know how to thank you," said Ruth.

"No need to thank us," Maria replied. "We're all God's children, and He loves all of us equally."

The next several hours were spent helping the Landaus settle in and finding places for them to sleep that night, if need be. One by one, Zoya and the children arose for breakfast. Maria introduced the Landaus and explained the situation to them. Jacob and Hannah were about the same age as the twins, Luc and Lara. "What do the yellow stars mean?" asked six-year-old Zoya, who was very inquisitive and never missed a thing.

"We have to wear them because we're Jewish," Ruth explained.

"Is it bad to be Jewish, then?" asked eight-year-old Joseph.

"Some people think it is," Sam told him.

Luc and Lara peeked through the cracks in the closed blinds all day as hordes of people went past, uniformed policemen escorting frightened men, women, and children, all of whom wore the same six-pointed yellow stars. "Why, they're not German soldiers at all!" Luc exclaimed. "Those are French policemen!"

"They're under the authority of that traitor Phillipe Pertain and his regime in Vichy, which is in league with the Nazis," Jules said blackly.

"This would have broken Simon's heart," Zoya remarked. "It breaks mine, knowing that these are the people he died to protect."

The round-up continued for the rest of the day and into the night. The sun had almost completely set when Maria's contractions began. "But it's too soon!" Her eyes grew wide with fear. "The baby isn't due for more than another month!"

"I'm taking you to the hospital right now!" Jules exclaimed.

"I'll watch the children," Zoya offered.

"But how will we ever get through?" asked Maria.

"I don't know, but we'll have to try," Jules replied.

"Please call and let me know you're all right when you get there!" Tears were in Zoya's eyes as she hugged Maria. "I love you, cousin!"

Just then there was a knock at the door. Jules' heart nearly stopped. Relief flooded through him as he opened the door to reveal Paul. "With all the craziness going on today, I just had to come by to make sure you were all right," Paul told his brother.

"I was just about to take Maria to the hospital," Jules told him. "I'm afraid she's about to give birth, and it's much too soon." He didn't mention the Landaus, who were huddled together in darkness in a back bedroom.

"Little wonder, what with all this stress," Paul muttered. "By all means, take her right away. I'll stay here with Zoya and the children."

Words couldn't express how glad Zoya was to see Paul. After the hurried departure of Jules and Maria, he smiled at her. "Everything will be all right." He embraced her, and she rested her head on his shoulder.

* * *

"He's adorable!" Margot giggled as the cocker spaniel puppy licked her face.

Peter grinned. "I'm glad you like him."

"Oh, I love him! Although it makes what I have to tell you all the more difficult to say."

"What's wrong?" His heart was in his throat. He saw the tears in her eyes and longed to take her into his arms and tell her that whatever it was, it would be all right.

"My father has forbidden me from seeing you anymore. He fears that your intentions toward me are less than honorable."

"I've never even so much as kissed you! I take you out for ice cream once in a blue moon. What's wrong with that?"

"You're Christian, right? Oh, why do I even ask? Of course you are!"

"I was christened into the Lutheran church as an infant, yes. What difference does that make?"

"To my father, all the difference in the world. But it isn't just that. It's because of my age, too."

"You're almost a fully grown woman, Margot. You will be in less than two years."

"I know." She sighed. "But what can I do? As long as I live under his roof, I have to abide by his rules."

He saw no point in mentioning that, strictly speaking, she _didn't_ live under his roof, as the Franks no longer had a permanent home. "I understand, I suppose." There was a giant lump in his throat, and he prayed that he wouldn't cry in front of her. "If I had a daughter like you, I'm sure I'd feel the same way."

"I'll never forget you, Peter."

He didn't respond, as he'd already turned so that she couldn't see the tears in his eyes.

* * *

Despite the presence of Paul, Zoya hardly slept at all that night, jumping at the slightest sound. Gentleman that he was, he slept on the floor in the room she and Matthew shared with his four-year-old niece, Anna. Maria labored throughout the night, and near dawn, a daughter weighing less than five pounds was born. "I've never seen a baby so tiny!" Big tears flowed from the former Grand Duchess' eyes as she gazed down at her eighth child. "How can she ever survive?"

"She's a fighter, and her vitals are good," the physician assured her. "Chances are excellent she'll pull through, after all."

"I love you, little one." Maria kissed the tiny cheek, thinking about how robust and healthy her other children had been at birth. Even the twins had been larger than their newest sister was.


	9. Anastasia's New Evening Gown

School resumed about a month and a half later. Nicholas stopped by his Aunt Anastasia's to pick Anne up on the way. "You look very nice," he told her as she left the house wearing a navy blue dress with tiny white dots and puffy sleeves.

"Thank you," she replied. "So do you."

Nicholas shyly slipped his hand into Anne's, and she made no move to remove it. He noticed that his shoulder came up about half an inch higher than hers did. They walked past several houses and across the street. Accustomed to the presence of the German soldiers on the corner, they ignored them.

"Remember how frightened you were when you first came to Paris?" Nicholas asked when they were out of earshot.

"Silly of me," Anne replied. "They think they look so tough, but they're really only boys. I'll bet a mouse would make them scream."

Nicholas laughed. "Speaking of mice..." He was just about to relate an amusing anecdote about his Aunt Anastasia as a child and her least favorite tutor when the school building came into view.

"Oh, is that it?" asked Anne. "It looks very nice!"

"How does it compare with the lyceum in Amsterdam?" asked Nicholas.

"It's a bit smaller, but very nice, all the same." They joined the trickle of students entering the building and found their classroom. Luckily, they were a bit early so had their choice of seats. Nicholas greeted the returning students he remembered and introduced them to Anne.

Soon their new teacher arrived. She was blonde and slender and wore a dark red dress with a diamond-shaped opening just below the neckline. "I'm Mademoiselle Bisset," she told the class. "I'm sure we'll all have a splendid year."

The morning passed quickly and pleasantly enough, and after lunch, Mlle. Bisset told her students to write a report about their summer vacation. For a period of about fifteen minutes, the only sound was the scratching of pencils on paper, and then Mlle. Bisset excused herself to go to the principal's office, leaving a boy named Pierre as the classroom monitor. Less than five minutes had passed before students began whispering among themselves.

Out of the corner of his eye, Nicholas saw that Anne was frowning with concentration as she wrote. "Hey, is there anything about me in there?" he whispered to her. She gave him a slight smile, which encouraged him. "Can I see?" She frowned again and shook her head vehemently, shielding her paper with her encircled arm.

"Please, just one little peek?" He grabbed the corner of the paper and gave it a gentle tug, and it ripped. Anne glared bullets at him as she flounced to the other side of the room.

Nicholas' heart sank. "I'm sorry!" he called to her, forgetting to lower his voice in his urgency. He felt his face grow beet red as the rest of the students stared at him. Moments later, Mlle. Bisset returned.

For Nicholas, the afternoon seemed to crawl. Every so often, he cast a furtive glance at Anne, but she looked away every time. When the final bell rang, he jumped up and headed for her, only to see her smile at his cousin Alexander. Alexander offered her his arm, and she took it.

Nicholas trudged home alone with his head down.

The moment she saw her son, Olga knew that something was terribly wrong. "What is it, dear?" she asked him.

"I don't want to talk about it," Nicholas grumbled.

Oxana snickered. As the school for younger students was dismissed about a half hour earlier, she was already home when her older brother arrived. "I'll bet it has something to do with Anne Frank, hasn't it?"

"Mama, make her shut up!"

* * *

"It's lovely!" Anastasia gasped as Dimitri lifted the evening gown from its wrappings. It was floor length and made of black tulle with sequined designs. "But how did you ever get enough ration stamp points for it?"

"I didn't." Dimitry leaned closer to his wife and whispered into her ear. "It was smuggled in from Vichy."

"No!" Anastasia gasped, but she was too pleased to scold him.

Just then there was a knock on the bedroom door. "Nicky's here," Kira called to her parents. Dimitri opened the door to admit his nephew.

"I need to talk to you in private," Nicholas told his uncle. Dimitri glanced at his wife, and Anastasia gave a knowing smile and left the room. As soon as she'd gone, Nicholas told his uncle what had happened with Anne.

"Sounds like you really messed up." Dimitri grinned. "But that's OK. I've got something that I know will make it better." He went to the dresser and removed a small object from one of its drawers. Nicholas gasped when he saw that it was a box of French truffles.

"But how did you..."

"Sh." Dimitri put his finger to his lips. "Don't ask."

"She'll love these!" Nicholas took the truffles from his uncle. "Thanks!"

Dimitri winked at him. "Don't mention it."

The following morning, Nicholas scowled as he walked past his Aunt Tatiana's house, imagining Alexander and Anne chatting and laughing together on their way to school. He gave the satchel containing the box of truffles a reassuring pat. They'd work; they simply _had_ to.

All morning long, he counted down the minutes until the lunch bell rang. When it finally did, he fell into step slightly behind the other students on the way to the cafeteria. When Alexander momentarily left Anne's side, he saw his chance. Pushing through the mass of students, he soon reached her side.

"Anne? Hey, I'm really sorry for what I did yesterday," he said. She ignored him. "Here's something to make up for it." He pulled the box of truffles from his satchel and handed it to her.

"Wow!" Her eyes grew wide. "Where did you get this?"

He grinned. "My Uncle Dimitri."

"But how..."

"I have no idea. He wouldn't tell me."

She giggled. "He must be quite a guy!"

"He's that, all right."

* * *

"Why, you're just about the most adorable little thing I've ever seen!" Zoya exclaimed. She was holding Jules and Maria's new daughter, Sara, who'd just been released from the hospital at the age of six weeks. "Isn't she, Paul?"

"Indeed she is," Paul agreed. "She makes me think of my Madeleine at that age."

"And she reminds me so of my Sasha as a babe." She sounded as if she might cry. "Oh, Paul, if only you could have known her when she was little, before Clayton died..."

Paul gave a deep sigh. He knew that nothing he could say would make things any better.


	10. Victory

That year ended, another passed, and a new one began. On June 6, 1944, Normandy was invaded by troops from the United Kingdom, the United States, Canada, Australia, Belgium, Czechoslovakia, Denmark, Greece, the Netherlands, New Zealand, Norway, and Poland. These troops established five beachheads: Utah, Omaha, Gold, Juno, and Sword Beach.

Dimitri and Alexei both took part in Plan Vert, which was a 15-day operation to sabotage the French railways so the Germans would be unable to send back-up troops by train. On June 6, 52 locomotives were destroyed, and the railway line was cut in more than 500 places. As of June 7, no trains were able to get into Normandy at all.

The bombing of Normandy began around midnight. Naval bombardment of areas behind the beach commenced at 5:45 in the morning, with the gunner switching to pre-assigned targets at 5:50. Assault troops began landing on the shore of Utah and Omaha at 6:30.

Nearly 5,000 landing and assault craft, 289 escort vessels, and 277 minesweepers participated in the invasion. Almost 160,000 troops crossed the English channel on June 6, and Allied casualties in that day were at least 10,000, with 4,414 confirmed dead.

Under the leadership of Philippe Leclerc de Hauteclocque, the Free French 2nd Armored Division, to which Dimitri and Alexei both belonged, landed at Utah Beach in Normandy on August 1, 1944, where they served under General Patton's Third Army. Seriously undermanned, General Charles de Gaulle pleaded with General Eisenhower to send help, and Eisenhower obliged. Alexei watched as the American soldiers came ashore, grateful that his wife's native country was coming to the rescue of his own adopted one.

The Americans and the French fought side by side all morning long. At one point, there was a lull in the fighting, and Alexei, who was starving, found a secluded nook behind a sand bar and opened his mess kit. Within moments, he noticed that one of the Americans was staring at him. "You're Alexei Romanov!" the man exclaimed after a few seconds.

Alexei's eyes narrowed. "How do you know my name?"

The soldier grinned as he stepped closer, eager to shake hands. "I'm your brother-in-law, Matt Brown. Rachel sends us pictures of you and the children often. This here's my younger brother, Will." He indicated the solider standing beside him.

"Oh, of course!" Alexei laughed. "I should have recognized you. She's shown me pictures of you as well." He blushed, inwardly chastising himself.

"Your children are absolutely adorable," Matt said. "I can't wait to meet them. I'm going to be a Dad myself in a few months. Becky's due in November."

"Congratulations!" Alexei replied. "Please say you'll accompany me home tonight. I know Rachel would love to see you two again."

"And we'd love to see her again as well, plus meet our darling niece and nephew!" said Will.

The fighting resumed, and when it became too dark for it to continue, Matt and Will accompanied Alexei back to his home. Rachel cried out with joy when she saw her brothers. She couldn't stop hugging them and asking about their parents. "Alena, Michael, come meet your uncles!" she called to her children.

"You're even prettier in person!" Matt exclaimed as he sat on the sofa and took Alena into his lap.

"Thank you," the little girl replied. "I went to school last year and learned my ABC's and even how to read, a little." She demonstrated by reciting the entire alphabet within ten seconds, barely pausing for breath.

"Ah, so you're smart as well!" Matt exclaimed.

"I'm not big enough to go to school yet," Michael said to Will. "I like to swing and slide and play in my sandbox, and when it's raining, I stay inside and play with my trains. Do you like trains, Uncle Will?"

"Indeed I do! When I was your age, I had a train set, too."

"What's it like in America?" Alena asked Matt.

"In Virginia, where I live, it's much the same as it is here, except that instead of the charming little cafes you have here, there are restaurants called diners that have long counters with stools that spin around and around. The cars look a little different too, and of course, there aren't any German soldiers on the streets."

"There have been German soldiers here for as long as I can remember."

"Well, hopefully there won't be for much longer."

Rachel allowed the children to stay up far past their regular bedtimes to visit with their uncles. "Can Uncle Matt read me my bedroom story?" Alena asked when her mother finally told her it was time to go to bed.

"Why, of course, if he doesn't mind."

"Of course I don't mind!" said Matt.

Both children were far too excited to get very much sleep that night.

* * *

On August 15, in Pantin, 1,654 male and 546 female political prisoners were sent to the concentration camps Buchenwald and Ravensbruck, respectively. A general strike, led by the employees of the Paris metro, the Gendarmerie, and the police, broke out on August 18. From August 19-23, able-bodied men of fighting age all over Paris went out into the streets to finally resist the German invaders who'd been there for the past four years.

On August 20, trees were cut down and trenches dug in the pavement to free paving stones for consolidating the barricades that were beginning to appear. These materials were transported using wooden carts. When fuel trucks were captured, civilian vehicles were seized, painted with camouflage, marked with the FFI emblem, and put into use for the cause.

The Nazi prison Fort de Romainville was liberated, and at 9:00 on August 23, the Germans opened fire on the Grand Palais, and German tanks fired at the barricades. Between 800 and 1,000 Resistance fighters were killed, and another 1,500 were wounded. Among the wounded was Matt Brown, who took a bullet to the abdomen. He was whisked away in a waiting ambulance, and Alexei and the others continued fighting.

On August 25, General Dietrich von Choltitz, the commander of the German garrison and military governor of Paris, surrendered at the Hotel Meurice, and later that same day, President de Gaulle moved back into the war ministry on the Rue Saint-Dominique. Alexei, Will, and the rest of the weary soldiers listened proudly to the speech he gave at the Hotel de Ville.

Although exhilarated that the long-awaited victory had finally arrived, Alexei couldn't help but feel a little sad that Matt couldn't be there to hear the speech as well. He resolved to visit the hospital and share it with him at the first opportunity.


	11. Sacrifice

"May I please see Matthew Brown?" Alexei asked the hospital receptionist.

"Right this way." She led Alexei and Will to a large ward which contained row after row of cots, and on each cot lay an injured soldier. Some of the men were sleeping or unconscious, while others moaned in agony. The coppery smell of blood combined with that of antiseptic made Alexei nauseous, and the sight of gore-covered stumps of missing limbs and open, gaping wounds made him cringe. He had to swallow a lump in his throat as his eyes scanned the desolate scene for his brother-in-law's face.

"There he is," he whispered to Will. Matt lay on his back, white as a sheet. His abdomen was horribly swollen, and his face was a mask of pain. Alexei saw a glimmer of recognition in his heavily-lidded eyes as he and Will approached him.

"Hey there, soldier," Will greeted his brother.

Matt tried to speak but could only mumble something unintelligible.

"What was that?" Will leaned closer to his brother's mouth.

With great effort, the injured man repeated his words. "Tell Mom...I love her..."

"Tell her yourself," said Will. "We're headed back home just as soon as you're on your feet and out of this place."

"I won't be...going...home..."

"Of course you will! They'll have you fixed right up in no time!"

Alexei could see that Will was plainly wrong but didn't have the heart to tell him.

"Will...please..." Matt coughed, and Alexei heard a gurgling noise. "Tell...her..."

"Of course I will." Alexei saw that there were tears in Will's eyes. "Of course I will."

Matt's eyes rolled up in his head, and he lay completely still. Will burst into sobs. Alexei closed Matt's eyes and then crossed himself.

On the way home, Will couldn't stop sobbing, while Alexei just felt numb inside. How would he ever tell his wife? Rachel would be devastated, he knew. She'd seen very little of her younger brothers since moving to Paris some ten years ago but had remained close to them through letters and the occasional telephone call. The loss of Matt would be a bitter one.

Rachel saw Will's tears and knew what had happened right away. She began to wail as she hugged her brother's neck. Alexei watched awkwardly, wishing that he could think of a way to comfort his wife.

"Mama! Mama!" Alena and Michael came running.

"Sh!" Alexei put his finger to his lips, then took one child's hand in each of his and began to walk with them toward the park. "Something really sad happened today," he explained as they walked along. "You remember how your Uncle Matt got hurt fighting the Germans and had to go to the hospital?"

"Uh huh," said Michael.

"Well, today he went to heaven to be with God."

Alena's eyes narrowed. "You mean he died?"

Alexei sighed. "Yes, _malenkaya,_ he did."

"So I'll never see him again, ever?"

"No, you won't."

Alena began to cry. "But I wanted to show him my picture of Joy!"

Alexei lifted his small daughter and held her close. "Tell you what," he said. "Why don't you send your picture to your Grandmama and Grandpapa in America? I'm sure they'd love to see it."

Alena smiled through her tears. "OK, Papa!"

* * *

"At last I can show you the beauty of my native country at night," Paul said to Zoya as they strolled along the Champ de Mars. Stately trees lined the avenue, and the fully illuminated Eiffel Tower shone brilliantly in the dusk sky.

"I lived here once before, you know," said Zoya. "Grandmother and I came here after the Revolution, and I worked at the Ballet Russe to support us. It was hard, but at least we still had each other."

"Poor little one." Paul put his arm around her and gave her a hug. "I can't begin to imagine what that must have been like, after having lived your entire life in such wealth and privilege."

"I never really felt sorry for myself," Zoya replied. "I was much too busy with just figuring out how to survive."

"And survive you did. You're the bravest, most determined woman I've ever known, Zoya. My hat's off to you."

She blushed. "As soon as things are back to normal, I want to open my boutique in Paris. I've been living off the money I got from selling the store in New York, but there's still plenty left, plus my inheritance from Simon's estate."

"I'm sure it'll be a tremendous success, just like your store in New York was."

"Thanks for believing in me."

Zoya had no idea what additional trauma would impact her life in less than two years' time.

* * *

Rachel took the loss of her brother very hard. Despite the attempts of Alexei and the children to comfort her, nothing they did seemed to work, and there were many nights when she awakened in the middle of the night, sobbing from yet another sad dream about Matt.

One Saturday afternoon, Alexei was surprised but happy to receive a visit from Zoya. Although closest to Maria, she'd been a cherished playmate of all five siblings. "Maria told me about Rachel's brother," she said. "I'm very sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," said Alexei. "Won't you come in?"

Zoya stepped inside. "If Rachel's available, I'd like to speak with her."

"I think she's in the bedroom." Alexei left and returned a moment later with his wife.

"Hi, Rachel," said Zoya. "I came to see how you're doing, and to tell you you're not alone. I've been through the same thing you're going through."

Rachel was astonished. "You _have?"_

Zoya nodded. "I had an older brother named Nicolai. To me he was the smartest, nicest, most handsome boy in the world. I idolized him. He meant the world to me."

Rachel glanced at her husband. "Alexei never told me."

"I never could bring myself to talk about it," Alexei confessed.

"He was with the Preobrazhensky Regiment," Zoya explained. "He was severely wounded in the February Revolution and sent home to die. I shall never forget it. Papa had laid him on the sofa, and blood was still pouring out of him and soaking into the carpet. I tore up my grandmother's petticoat to make bandages for him, but it did no good. He died in our father's arms."

"I've never seen someone die before." Rachel shuddered. by the time she'd seen Matt, he'd already been bathed and dressed and was lying in his casket. Zoya's suffering must have been even worse than her own.

"Trust me, you never want to."

"I'm so sorry." Rachel couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Our parents both died a little while after that, which left just me and Grandmama. It was unspeakably difficult, but we survived, and you will, too."

"Thanks for sharing that with me." Rachel embraced the other woman. "For the very first time, I feel like someone truly understands."

That night, she slept peacefully for the first time since Matt's death.

* * *

A week before the American Thanksgiving holiday, Becky Brown's son was born and was named Matthew for his father. On May 8, 1945, Nazi Germany surrendered to the European powers, and on August 15 of that year, Philippe Petain was convicted of treason and sentenced to death, although the sentence was never carried out.


	12. Reciprocity

**October 1945**

Margot Frank sat with her parents and sister in the passenger coach of a train bound for Nuremberg, Germany. To her, it seemed the wheels couldn't turn fast enough, yet another part of her wanted them to just keep rolling on, never to stop. It had been over three years since she'd seen him or heard his voice. Did he remember her at all? If so, what would his reaction be upon seeing her again? Would he feel joy, indifference, or even anger? Deep down inside, she was afraid to find out, yet she knew that he needed her now, that it might even be a matter of life or death.

As the train journeyed on, her mind wandered back to the time they'd all left Paris, having been driven out by Operations Overlord and Dragoon. One morning, Otto had told his family they were all gone, that the citizens of Paris were once again free to roam the streets of the city any time, day or night, without fear of being harassed or even arrested.

"Isn't it wonderful, Margot?" Anne's eyes had danced with excitement.

"I suppose so," Margot had muttered with a sigh, wondering whether he was still alive, even.

"What's the matter, dear?" Edith had asked her elder daughter.

"Nothing, Mama." Margot had looked at Anne's smiling face. Of course _she_ could be happy. Nicholas Voronov was still here.

The train lurched to a stop, interrupting Margot's reminiscing. The family disembarked and walked the short distance from the train station to the Palace of Justice. The gargantuan building was made of stones that were various shades of grey and had fourteen arched entryways. Above the arches were three levels of double windows, and above that was a red roof with four battlements. Margot felt Anne's hand slip into her own, as it had sometimes done when they were little and the younger girl had felt awed or a little frightened. Margot squeezed her younger sister's hand in understanding. The building made her feel tiny, too.

Upon entering the palace, the family found themselves inside a vast room with walls that were painted brown on the bottom and white on top. There were enormous windows and rows of benches, just like inside a synagogue. On the front row sat several men Margot didn't recognize and two she did. One was the conductor of the train that had borne herself and her family from Amsterdam to Paris, and the other was _him._

Although he now looked somewhat thinner and paler than the last time she'd seen him, she recognized him right away. He was dressed in a prison uniform, and his blond hair was long and disheveled. His blue eyes were wide with fear; meeting her own, they registered shock.

A middle-aged man wearing a dark suit entered the room, and Margot knew that he was Prosecuting Attorney Robert H. Jackson and that he would have a major hand in determining Peter's fate. He smiled and seemed to have a disarming manner as he greeted the Franks, which put Margot at ease. "This is only a preliminary hearing," he explained. "It will not determine Peter Gaebel's guilt or innocence, but merely whether or not there exists enough evidence to charge him with crimes against humanity."

 _Crimes against humanity._ Margot swallowed the huge lump in her throat as the train conductor began to speak, describing the events of that long-ago day. "I asked Peter Gaebel who his fellow travelers were, and he told me that they were a Jewish family that he was transporting to a concentration camp for extermination," the man said.

 _No!_ Margot wanted to scream, but she knew she couldn't say anything until it was her turn to speak. Mr. Jackson turned to Otto Frank first, and in her mind, Margo begged her father to say something, anything, that would exonerate Peter.

First Otto, then Edith, described the interactions they'd had with Peter that day, and at last it was Margot's turn to speak. "Everything my parents said is true!" she cried, forgetting for a moment where she was. "Peter Gaebel is completely innocent! He only said those words so that no suspicion would be aroused. He _did_ take us to Paris, but not to a concentration camp. Instead we stayed with a family of Russian ex-patriots, passing ourselves off as distant relatives of theirs and members of the Russian Orthodox church. He risked his life to save ours. We would all be dead right now if it weren't for him." There were tears in her eyes as she gazed at the American attorney. "Please don't let him be put on trial, Mr. Jackson. He didn't do anything wrong at all!"

"After hearing all the evidence, I'm satisfied that there's no just cause to put Peter Gaebel on trail for crimes against humanity," Mr. Jackson announced when she was finished speaking. "Mr. Gaebel, you're free to go."

The next time Margot looked into his eyes, she saw that they were shining with joy. She stood, and the next thing she knew, his arms were around her, holding her tight. They stood like that for what seemed like ages but, at the same time, seemed to end far too soon.

At last he stepped back and looked at her. "All grown up now." His voice was as soft as a feather. "And lovely as ever."

"You saved me, once." She gave a shaky laugh. "Does this make us even now?"

"You never owed me a thing, Gretchen." She smiled at the sound of his special nickname for her. His voice was husky with emotion as he gazed into her eyes. "I'm just ever so glad you came. I don't know what would have happened to me if you hadn't."

"I only did what I knew in my heart was right." As much as she longed to smooth the lank of hair hanging in his eyes back, she feared that to do so would seem forward. "How have you been, Peter?"

"Terrible! After Paris, I was imprisoned in the Rheinwiesenlager until last June, when a group of us were sent back to France to clear minefields. I'm lucky to be standing here right now, Gretchen. I saw men all around me getting blown to bits or losing arms or legs. I still have nightmares about it sometimes." He shuddered. "Say, are you in a particular hurry to get back home? I'd love to take you for a stroll around town. We have so much to catch up on."

"Not at all. Just let me tell my parents first so they won't be worried."

Unbeknownst to Margot, Otto and Edith had been watching her and Peter with broad smiles on their faces the entire time. "No problem at all. We'd like to see a bit of the town ourselves as well," Otto told her when she spoke to him.

So Peter and Margot left the palace headed in one direction, while Otto, Edith, and Anne set out in the other. "So how have _you_ been?" asked Peter.

"I finished school about a year and a half ago. A few months after that, I went to work as a bookkeeper for a department store."

"Any boyfriends?" She heard the false lightness in his voice.

She shook her head. "No one."

"I don't believe it!" The joy he was unable to conceal made her heart hammer so hard she thought it would beat right out of her chest. "A girl, excuse me, I mean woman, as beautiful as you?"

"There was never anyone I wanted." She thought of Anne and Nicholas, of the whispered giggles, the stolen kisses. "I've never even been kissed."

"Really?" One eyebrow went up as his lips began to curl at the ends, and the next thing she knew, his lips were on hers. "Now you have."

"That was very nice." Euphoria filled her. "I'd like another."

He kissed her again, a soft, lingering kiss that sent tingles all the way down to her toes. "I love you, Margot Frank. Will you marry me?"


	13. To Have And To Hold

"Now?" They'd reached the corner of Further Street and Theodor-Heuss-Brucke, where they stood beneath a tree watching a group of blackbirds fly overhead.

"Can you think of a better time?" asked Peter.

"No."

His smile faded. "No?"

"No, I can't think of a better time. Yes, I'll marry you."

He laughed. "You had me going for a minute there." He embraced her and kissed her cheek.

"Do you have a ring?" she asked.

"Oh. That's right." He stopped walking and just stood there, looking embarrassed.

"That's all right. My father will loan us the money." She gasped. "Oh, that's right! I haven't even talked to them about it yet."

"And you're afraid they might not want a blond Lutheran as a son-in-law. I understand." His words were light, but she sensed the dread of uncertainty behind them.

"It's just that I'm not sure they could ever imagine me as someone's wife. To them, I'm still just a girl."

"Well, you'll never know until you ask, will you?" He took her hand, and they began to walk back in the direction of the palace. "I'll stay right there with you the whole time."

She gave him a shy glance out of the corner of her eyes, and he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. In what seemed almost no time at all, they were back at the palace, but the Franks had yet to return from their own stroll, so Peter and Margot lingered at the entrance to await their arrival. "I'm curious," Margot began. "When was it that you first realized that you loved me?"

"I think it was the first time I saw you," Peter confessed. "You were standing with your parents and holding your suitcase, and rather than looking frightened, you just looked curious. I remember admiring your bravery."

"I wasn't so much brave as resigned," Margot replied. "When I got the order to report to the work camp, I was really frightened at first, but after awhile, I started to feel peace about it. I knew that whatever happened would be the will of God, and I was willing to accept it."

Peter was taken aback. "Surely you don't believe that it was the will of God for six million innocent people to be murdered."

"No, but I believe that whatever happens to us, He'll be there to see us through it."

"I never realized you had such strong faith." He was awed by her all over again.

"Sometimes it's the only way to survive." She smiled. "So how did you turn out to be so different from most German Christians?"

"I don't think of myself as different in particular." He shivered as a cool breeze passed over them. "I love my country, and it breaks my heart to see what's become of it, but there's no excuse for the harm that was done. I was glad to see Hitler defeated. He was the most evil man who ever lived."

By now, the Franks could be seen in the distance. Margot stepped forward to meet them. "Mama, Papa, I have something important to tell you. Peter and I want to get married."

To her surprise, Otto and Edith smiled at one another. 'I told you so,' Edith mouthed to her husband. "I'm happy for you, darling." To Margot's surprise, her mother gave her a warm embrace. "Peter is a good man, and I know you'll be happy together."

Relief swept over Margot, and tears of joy were in her eyes as she returned her mother's embrace, then reached for her father.

"When do you plan to marry?" Otto wanted to know.

"As soon as I can buy a ring," Peter replied. To his utter shock, Edith slipped her own wedding ring off her finger and handed it to him. "Use mine for now. You can buy your own later."

Overcome with joy, the young couple entered the palace once again, with Margot's family right behind them. "Mr. Jackson!" Margot called to the attorney, who was going through some paperwork.

"I'm only an attorney," the American laughed when she explained the situation to him. "I'll find someone who can help you."

A short time later, Judge Francis Biddle arrived to perform the ceremony, and Peter and Margot became husband and wife.

"I'll take everyone out to dinner to celebrate," Otto announced. They went to Der Gostenhofer Dorshulze, where Peter and Margot shared their first meal together as husband and wife.

"Tomorrow, I'll take you to Bessungen to meet your new family," Peter told his bride.

"I need to go back to Paris to pick up Pascal first." Pascal was the cocker spaniel Peter had given her on that long-ago July day.

"Oh, that's right! We'll return to Paris, then go on to Bessungen."

By the time they'd finished dinner, it was almost dark, so they all went to the Hotel Hamburg to spend the night. Alone with her new husband for the very first time, Margot could feel her heart pounding in anticipation. Peter saw how she was shaking and took both her hands into his own. "Don't be afraid. I promise you, everything will be fine."

* * *

The following morning, he awakened to find her lying beside him, her dark hair strewn over the pillow, her chest rising and falling. Transfixed, he lay propped on one elbow, just watching her, for he had no idea how long. He couldn't believe what a lucky man he was.

She shifted in her sleep, and he felt a surge of warmth go through him. As much as he adored watching her sleep, he longed to look into her eyes, to hear her voice.

She yawned and stretched, and her eyes fluttered open. "Good morning," Peter said with a gentle smile as he kissed her nose.

"Oh." She looked startled for just a minute, then smiled. "So it _wasn't_ just a dream, after all."

"If it is, I never want to wake up."

"Peter!" She laughed with joy as she pulled him close and hugged him tight. "We're together at last, never to be parted again!" She dreaded asking, but she had to know. "Peter?"

"Yes?"

"After I had to say good-bye to you in Paris...were there any other girls?"

"None." His face was solemn as he shook his head. "Once I met you, I never wanted any other girl."

"So you were alone all that time?"

"Why do you sound so surprised?"

"Well, I suppose I just assumed...I mean...you had no way of knowing you'd ever see me again."

"Deep down inside, I knew we'd meet again some day." He smiled as he trailed a finger down the side of her face. "You've just given me your all, Gretchen, and I'm so very honored."

Her smiled disappeared. He frowned. "Please don't be sad, darling. I'm yours alone for the rest of our lives."

"It's just that I've never been separated from my parents and Anne, and I know I'm going to miss them very much."

"Oh." He chuckled. "I promise, we'll visit them just as often as you'd like."

With a sigh of contentment, she snuggled into his arms, and he held her tight. Neither of them was one bit worried about missing the train.


	14. Meeting Peter's Family

They heard someone knocking on their motel room door. "Your father!" Peter jumped out of bed and began throwing his clothes on, and Margot did the same. As soon as they were presentable, she opened the door, after a quick peep through the keyhole just to be sure.

"Sorry to have kept you waiting," Margot told her parents and sister. "Time just got away from us."

"That's all right," said Otto. "We quite understand." He winked at Peter, who blushed a deep red.

"Have you eaten?" asked Edith.

"Why...no, we haven't." Margot remembered all of a sudden.

"We'll just take something along to eat on the train," Peter decided. "Will that be all right, Gretchen?"

"Of course!" Margot replied. Twenty minutes later, they sat together on a train bound for Paris. Margot held Peter's hand, and her head rested on his shoulder.

"I seem to spend quite a bit of my life riding trains," she joked.

"I'm so glad it's under better circumstances than the first train ride we shared," Peter replied.

"So am I."

It was late evening by the time they reached Paris, and the city's famous lights were already aglow. Peter and Margot stepped from the train station into a world of dazzling wonder. "This is the most romantic thing that ever happened to me!" Margot exulted. Peter swept her into his arms and gave her a passionate kiss, and memories of the previous night swept over her.

Almost with regret, they headed for Dimitri and Anastasia's house, where Pascal awaited the return of his owner. The little dog was watching from the window and ran to greet Margot with his tail wagging the entire rear end of his body.

"Peter!" Dimitri was surprised to see the former German soldier. "It's good to see you again."

"Likewise," Peter replied.

"I'm so glad that the charges against you were dismissed. So have you decided to make Paris your home now?"

Peter shook his head. "We only came back for Pascal. Margot and I are returning to Bessungen."

"We were married in Nuremberg yesterday," Margot explained.

"Why, congratulations!" Anastasia, who'd appeared beside her husband, was anxious to embrace the newlyweds, while Pascal barked in excitement. Margot picked him up, and he began to place warm doggy kisses all over her face.

"We're going to our new home," she told him.

"I'll bet you don't remember me." The little dog growled low in his throat as Peter began to stroke his fur, but after a few seconds he relented.

"Surely you're not going all the way back tonight," said Anastasia.

"Oh, no. We'll find a motel," Peter replied.

"Nonsense," said Dimitri. "You'll stay with us. We have plenty of room."

And so Peter and Margot spent the second night of their marriage on the fold-out sofa in Dimitri and Anastasia's living room.

* * *

Fritz and Brigitte Gaebel had wed in 1916, and the birth of their first child, Friedrich Ernst Jr., had followed six months later, in January of 1917. The births of five more children had occurred in as many years: Hans Adolph (who'd recently had his middle name legally changed to Dietrich, understandably), Sigrid Elise, Martin Luther, Ursula Maria (whom everyone called 'Uschi'), and Peter Wilhelm.

After serving his country in the first world war, Fritz took over management of a brewery and, after a few rough years, began to turn over a handsome profit, one which enabled him to purchase a large, stately home near the Saubachgraben, in which he, Brigitte, and their two unmarried children still lived.

They were, of course, overjoyed to see their youngest son again, and Brigitte smothered him with kisses almost before he was inside the house. It was several moments before she and her husband even noticed the brunette holding the small dog who accompanied him.

"Papa, Mama," said Peter. "This is my wife, Margot."

Several moments of awkward silence followed, during which Margot wished with all her might that she could simply dissolve into the floor. She'd dreaded this moment ever since boarding the train in Paris, and her trepidation had only grown worse as the hours had passed.

At last Brigitte smiled and extended her hand to Margot. "Welcome to the family, dear."

"Thank you." Somehow, Margot managed to smile back and shake her mother-in-law's hand.

"You never told us you were romantically involved," Fritz said to his son.

"Yes...well." Peter gave a nervous chuckle. "It happened rather quickly...I mean, it didn't really." He sighed. "It's kind of a long story."

Brigitte frowned but didn't say anything. "Well, we're certainly eager to hear it," said Fritz. "Come on in and tell us about it."

The family went into the spacious, comfortable living room and sat down. They were barely seated before a young blonde who strongly resembled Peter appeared in the doorway. Her face registered shock, then joy.

"Peter!"

"Uschi!"

The siblings embraced, laughing with abandon. "I'd like you to meet my wife, Margot," Peter said after awhile.

Uschi looked shocked once again, then laughed. "Why, you devil! Hi, Margot, I'm Peter's sister, Uschi." She gave Margot a warm hug, which the younger woman returned with slight hesitation.

"Have a seat, Ursula," said Fritz. "Peter was about to tell us how he came to be married."

Peter related the story of his chance encounter with Alexandra and his promise to rescue her grandson's pen pal and her family. He told of the three years they'd been separated, how he'd thought of her and missed her, of how they'd been reunited when she'd arrived in Nuremberg and saved him from a possible lengthy prison term.

Another uncomfortable silence followed, which was broken once again by Brigitte. "Well, we're certainly grateful for what you did for our son," she told Margot, but she wasn't smiling when she said it.

Fritz cleared his throat. "I'd best go see to the plants."

"Yes, and I need to finish clearing away the dishes," Brigitte added.

"Come on!" Uschi smiled and took Margot's hand. "I want to show you my newest needlework picture."

Unsure what to expect, Margot followed.


	15. Much Less Reason

Uschi led her into a large, comfortable-looking bedroom containing a four-poster bed with a fluffy pink-and-white quilt. The walls were painted a cheery yellow, and many needlework projects, some of which were Bible verses, were hung on them. Margot's eyes grew round with wonder as she looked around. It was by far the largest single-occupant bedroom she'd ever seen.

"This used to be Sigrid's room too, before she got married," Uschi explained.

"Did you make all these?" Margot was still gazing at the needlework projects, admiring their intricate designs and the obvious skill of their creators.

"Most, but not all," Uschi told her. "Sigrid made one, the windmill, I think, and Mama made a couple of them as well."

"This one's from the Torah." Margot nodded in its general direction. "And that one's from the Psalms."

Uschi frowned. "The Torah?"

"The Hebrew scriptures."

"Oh." Uschi laughed. "We call it the Old Testament. It's all right. We believe in the same God. That's all that matters."

Margot already liked Peter's sister very much.

"You must be the girl Peter told me about. He wrote to me when he was in Paris and said he'd met someone special, but then I didn't hear anything else about it for a long time, so I thought it must have been just a passing thing."

Margot felt a cold chill at the bottom of her spine. Her discomfort must have shown on her face. "Oh, my brother's no playboy," Uschi assured her. "Peter's a real gentleman, the nicest boy you could ever hope to meet. He'd never do anything to hurt you." She knew about Beate, but not about the girls in Paris, of course.

"I know he wouldn't. He told me that he hasn't wanted anyone else since he met me, and I believe him."

"I can tell you're a good woman, Margot. I'm so glad my brother met you." Uschi sighed and looked down.

"Is something wrong?" Margot was concerned.

"My fiance was killed in Stalingrad. A Russian threw a grenade at him. His name was Franz Meininger. We were to have been married when he returned from the war."

"I'm so sorry!" Margot felt like crying herself.

"It's all right. It was God's will, I suppose." Uschi smiled. "I lost a fiance but gained a sister."

* * *

"She's carrying your child, isn't she?" Brigitte practically spat the words at her son. "She found some way to sneak in and visit you in Nuremberg before the arraignment..."

"No, she didn't, Mama, and it's not fair for you to assume that about her just because it happened that way for you and Papa."

Fire blazed in Brigitte's eyes as she slapped her son across the face. "Don't you _dare_ throw something in my face that happened almost thirty years ago!"

Shocked, Peter reached up to touch his face where her hand been. It was the first time she'd ever struck him. Both of them just stood in disbelief, not saying a thing, for several seconds, until the silence was broken by Brigitte.

"Then _why,_ Peter? You know how much I wanted you to marry a woman of faith."

"Margot _is_ a woman of faith, Mama. It just doesn't happen to be the Lutheran faith. And I love her. I have for almost three and a half years."

Brigitte snorted. "What do _you_ know about love?"

"Enough to know I want to spend the rest of my life with her."

Alerted by the commotion, Martin set his Bible aside and walked to the kitchen. Brigitte turned to look at him as he approached. "Your brother has just married a Jewess," she said in response to his perplexed look.

"Has he?" Martin swallowed his surprise, then turned to Peter. "Well, I certainly hope she's converted, or at least plans to do so."

"She hasn't, and I would never pressure her to."

"But if you love her, surely you must be concerned about her immortal soul."

"Of course I am, but I believe such matters are best left up to God."

"Who gave us specific instructions on how to get to heaven in His word."

Peter sighed. He'd known his family would react in this manner.

* * *

"Your parents aren't very happy about it, are they?" Margot asked Peter as they were getting ready for bed in his old bedroom. It was as large as Uschi's, but the walls were painted blue and decorated in a military theme.

"They're just surprised, that's all. They'll come around."

"Your sister's a very sweet woman."

Peter smiled. "She and I have always been very close. She knows things about me that our parents don't even know."

Breakfast the following morning was pancakes and sausages. "I hope this is something you can eat," Brigitte said to Margot.

"It's fine. I'm not very hungry, anyway," Margot lied, placing a couple of pancakes on her plate.

After breakfast, Peter took her for a stroll on the grounds behind his home. "All this is really yours?" She was awed once again, this time at the expanse of the Gaebel property.

Peter laughed. "Well, of course I hope to buy us a home of our own soon."

"So what shall you do now that the war is over?"

His expression darkened. "Almost all of the inner city was burned to ashes by the British. It will take a long time to restore all of that, and when it's finally done, I suppose I'll join my father and brothers at the brewery."

"It must be very successful."

"It hasn't always been. It nearly went bankrupt during the American Prohibition. I don't remember it well at all, since I was a child at the time, but I've heard a lot about it. It finally ended around the time my oldest brother finished school, thank God. Several years after that, Hitler came to power."

"You must really hate him."

"I have less reason to hate him than you do, Gretchen." His voice was soft. "Much less reason."

"It may seem funny, but I _don't_ hate him. After all, he's dead now, and some of us are still alive, so I suppose that means we won."

He couldn't answer her back because of the lump in his throat. All he could do was hold her as if he'd never let her go.

The whole family came together for dinner. "You must be Margot." Martin smiled and extended his hand. He looked much like his brother and sister except that his hair was just a little darker. "I'm Martin."

"It's nice to meet you." Margot shook his hand.

Peter pulled her chair out for her. "Margot knows Dutch and French, and she's quite fluent in English as well," he told his brother.

"Dutch is very easy to learn. It takes almost no time at all," Martin observed.

"True," Margot agreed. "It's much harder to learn French. Unlike Dutch and English, it's a Latin language."

"A descendant of the language of the ancient Romans, the first Christian civilization of the West," said Martin.

"I also know Hebrew, but not Yiddish. My parents never spoke it in front of Anne and me."

"Wow," said Uschi.


	16. Devastation

"It sounds like she's very happy." Edith was reading a letter from Margot and talking to Otto and Anne, who were sitting on the living room sofa. "I can tell she and Peter are still very much in love, and she's also become very close to his sister, Uschi. She says she can tell his parents are disappointed, but they treat her well for his sake."

"She also says that his father is quite wealthy and has a large, fancy house. She says she felt very intimidated at first, but she's pretty much gotten used to it by now. His father manages a brewery, and his two oldest brothers work there, but his brother Martin is a bishop."

"That sounds rather awkward," Otto remarked.

"The brewery or the bishop?"

"Both, but I mostly meant the bishop. I hate the thought of our daughter living so far away from us to start with, but I really can't bear the idea of her being constantly pressured to convert. She's the only Jew among Lutherans now, you know. She's bound to feel a bit isolated at best."

"We could always move back to Frankfurt, you know. It's only a stone's throw from Bessungen, so we could visit her often."

"No, Mama!" Anne cried. "Please let me stay here in Paris and finish school with Nicky! We only have one more year after this one!"

"Don't be selfish, Anne." Otto's voice was kind but firm. "You have to think about what's best for the entire family rather than simply what you want for yourself. Besides, we haven't even seriously discussed any such move as of yet. Your mother only just now brought it up."

"I know you've become very close to Nicholas, but wouldn't you rather live near your sister?" asked Edith. "You and he could always just go back to being pen pals, like you were before."

"It wouldn't be the same." Anne felt the tears forming in her eyes and didn't fight them. "We've been together for over three years now, and I simply couldn't stand not being able to see him every day!"

"I think it would be good for the two of you to be apart for awhile," Otto remarked. "You're too young to get so seriously involved. You should have the opportunity to be around other young men. Who knows, maybe you'll even meet a nice Jewish boy."

"I don't _want_ to be with a Jewish boy!" Anne was so upset that she didn't even realize that she was almost shouting. "I want to be with Nicky!"

"You'd better watch your attitude, young lady," Otto warned.

"Or what? You'll send me to my room?"

Otto sighed.

* * *

"You looked so sad at dinner tonight," Margot said to Peter. "I was dying to ask you what the matter was, but I didn't want to embarrass you."

His blue eyes were filled with tears as he gazed at her. "If you could just see what it looks like now, you'd never believe how grand it once was." His voice was choked with tears. "Empty, hollow shells where magnificent buildings once stood. Charred debris lying everywhere. The smell of smoke is still overwhelming. I know it will never go away." He drew a long, ragged sigh. "It was once the pride of Germany, and now it's nothing but a pile of rubbish, a trash heap."

Unable to hold the tears back anymore, he laid his head on her chest and sobbed. Her fingers stroked his silky blond hair. She longed to comfort him, and yet she could feel a coldness building inside her own body. What had become of Frankfurt, her childhood home? Was it as devastated as Darmstadt?

Peter cried until there were no more tears left, then clung silently to his wife as she continued to comfort him. At last he raised his head and looked at her, tracks of wet tears on his cheeks, face red and puffy. They held one another tightly for a long time, neither of them saying a word.

"Will you take me to Frankfurt, Peter?" she asked him after awhile.

He just stared at her, unable to believe his ears. "Why?"

"I haven't seen it since I was seven years old," Margot replied. "I just _have_ to know what it looks like now. Please, Peter."

That Saturday, they made the thirty-five-minute trip to her former home. Hand in hand, they strolled a wide street piled high with wreckage on both sides. "I remember a department store was there, once." Margot pointed. "When I was about four, my Papa took me to the chemist counter and bought me a strawberry milkshake. I remember listening to Kurt Weill playing in the background and feeling cozy and warm and safe and like everything would always be the same."

He stared at the now barren spot where she'd pointed, not saying a word.

"It's funny," she continued. "We practically grew up in each other's back yards, but if it weren't for this war, we never would have even met."

"So something good came out of it after all, I suppose." His voice sounded hollow and empty, even to him.

* * *

It was Christmas Eve, and Zoya and Paul, now husband and wife, stood in the living room of their own house, admiring their fully-lit tree. Zoya's heart was light as a feather. The war was finally over, her son Nicholas had survived, shortages and rationing cards were things of the past, and joy and good tidings were in the air. The only thing that marred her happiness was how her daughter Sasha had turned out.

Since finishing school and moving to West Palm Beach in Florida, her behavior had gone from bad to worse. She'd married a young man named Freddy, and together they primarily spent their time drinking and going to wild parties. Not even the birth of their daughter, Marina, had slowed them down. They continued on with their reckless lifestyle, constantly leaving the infant with a nurse.

Zoya had just tucked seven-year-old Matthew into bed when she heard the telephone ring. As she answered it, Paul watched all the blood drain from her face.


	17. Sasha

"What is it, sweetheart?" His voice was warm with concern as he moved to embrace her.

"It's Sasha." She was shaking so hard she could barely speak. "There's been a terrible accident! Freddy's dead, and Sasha's back was broken. She's in critical condition. I must go to her right away!"

Paul frowned. "What about the baby?"

"She's with the sitter."

"Thank God for that!"

They left Matthew with Alexei and Rachel. "Since he and Michael are in the same class, it won't be any extra trouble to take him along to school as well, will it?" asked Zoya.

"Of course not!" Rachel assured her. "Please have a safe trip, and I hope very much that your daughter will be all right!"

The two women embraced, and Paul and Zoya were on their way.

Arriving back in the United States for the first time in three and a half years, in Florida for the first time ever, Zoya felt as if she were in a bad dream from which she hoped to awaken soon.

"I just feel numb all over," she told Paul as they were standing on a corner, hailing a cab.

"I know." The cab arrived, and they hurried into the back seat. Paul held her hand for the entire short trip to the hospital.

As she entered the large, white building and smelled the characteristic antiseptic odor, reality washed over her like a wave of freezing cold water. Her heart began to hammer madly as they approached Sasha's room. What would it be like to see her daughter again after all this time? How dreadful would her physical injuries turn out to be?

They entered the room to find Sasha awake but staring at the wall with a grim expression on her face. "Sweetheart." Zoya sat in a chair beside the bed and took Sasha's hand into her own. "I got here as soon as I could."

Sascha scowled and didn't say anything. Zoya brushed the hair back from her forehead with her fingers. "Are you all right, Sasha? Are you in any pain?"

"I can't feel _anything,_ Mama. Anything at all!" The words shot out of Sasha's mouth like bullets. "I'll never feel anything again, ever. Didn't they tell you? My spinal cord was severed. I'm crippled for life!"

The fire in her daughter's eyes made Zoya tremble. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. Are you _sure_ there's nothing they can do?"

"The doctor said it was permanent." Sasha's voice was heavy with bitterness. "I'll never walk or run or dance again. Why couldn't I have just died, like Freddy?"

"Because there are still people here who need you, that's why! Your little girl needs you!"

"What kind of a mother can I be to her in a wheelchair?"

Zoya was tempted to point out that she hadn't been much of a mother to Marina _before_ the accident. "You can still love her and take care of her, Sasha. You've been given a second chance, and I hope you won't throw it away."

"Ha! Some second chance!" Sasha turned her face back to the wall, and Zoya knew that the conversation was over.

She and Paul drove to the babysitter's to pick up Marina. At four months, the little girl was beautiful, with silky red hair and big blue eyes. However, as Zoya reached for her, she primped up and began to cry.

"It's all right, darling! I'm your grandmother, and I love you very much!" Zoya cooed. She held the baby and soothed her until she stopped crying, then handed her to Paul. He sang a French lullaby to her in a deep, soothing voice, and she looked up at him with unblinking eyes, mesmerized. When the lullaby ended, her face lit up as she grinned at him.

"You're such a natural," said Zoya.

Paul grinned and winked. "Grand kids."

Zoya made arrangements to take Sasha and Marina back to Paris with her. Sasha protested loudly, and Zoya struggled to convince her that with her family was where she belonged.

After collecting Matthew, Zoya took her daughter and granddaughter to meet the former Tsar and Tsarina. Sasha's eyes lit up as she was introduced to Alexandra and, just for a moment, the sweet, innocent little girl she'd once been was back.

"I was named for you," she told the older woman. "Mama told us ever so many stories when we were little, and I always wondered what it would be like to meet you in person."

"We've always wanted to meet you as well, darling," Alexandra replied with a warm smile. "You do resemble your mother quite strongly."

After the temporary warmth she'd shown the Tsarina, Sasha clammed up and became sullen again, and later that day, she began to shake uncontrollably, which frightened Zoya out of her wits.

"It's delirium tremens," the emergency room physician said. He admitted Sasha to the hospital and gave her medication, and the symptoms soon subsided. Afterwards, the young woman went right back to being sulky and morose, refusing to show any interest in anyone or anything at all.

* * *

For her birthday in February, Peter took Margot to visit her family and friends in Paris. Everyone was excited and happy to see Margot again and to meet Peter, until they got to Alexei and Rachel's home. Rachel greeted Margot warmly, but an expression of horror appeared on her face when she was introduced to Peter. She attempted to slam the door shut in his face but was stopped by Alexei.

"Please come on in," he said to the puzzled couple. "I'll find out what's wrong."

He went into the kitchen, where he found his wife standing beside the sink, crying and wringing her hands. "How could she bring _him_ here?" she asked. "It was him, or someone just like him, who killed my brother!"

"Sweetheart, the war is over now," Alexei replied. "The Germans aren't our enemies anymore, and a lot of them died too, you know."

"I don't care! That doesn't change what happened to Matthew!"

"I know it doesn't, Rayushka, but Peter can't help what happened to Matthew. He's a nice, decent fellow who wants to be our friend."

"I _won't_ dishonor my brother's memory by associating with him!"

With a heavy sigh, Alexei returned to the living room to explain the situation to Peter and Margot.


	18. Another Journey To The Past

"She lost her brother in Normandy in '44," Alexei told Peter and Margot. "She's had a very difficult time dealing with his death, and I'm afraid meeting you re-opened some old wounds."

"I understand." Peter shuffled his feet, staring at the floor. "My sister's fiance was killed at Stalingrad, and if I met a former Russian soldier right now, I certainly wouldn't feel very kindly toward him. Come on, sweetheart, let's carry on."

When they reached Nicholas and Alexandra's home, they saw that Zoya and Sasha were visiting. "Please meet our good friends, Peter and Margot Gaebel," Alexandra said to her guests. "Peter's father was the kitchen boy in the palace I grew up in."

"Really?" Sasha's eyes lit up right away. "So he knew Aunt Alix as a young girl, then?"

Peter grinned. "Indeed he did."

"Is he still alive? Oh, please, can I meet him?"

"He's very much alive, and still lives near the palace. We'd be happy to take you to meet him." Peter surveyed the wheelchair with a worried look on his face. "If that's possible."

"The side comes off, and once I'm seated, it folds to fit in the trunk," Sasha told him.

Peter was relieved. "Well, then, I don't suppose it would be a problem."

"Won't you stay for awhile?" asked Alexandra. "We were just about to have tea."

"Certainly," Margot replied.

Zoya found herself intrigued by the comely brunette. "Please tell me about yourself," she said to Margot as they were eating.

"I was born in Frankfurt, but we had to leave when I was just eight," Margot began. "We stayed with my grandmother in Aachen for awhile, and then we moved to the apartment in Amsterdam. When I got the notice to report to the labor camp, we knew we'd have to go into hiding, but then my sister's pen pal and his friends rescued us just in time. That's how I met Peter for the first time." She smiled at Peter, and he squeezed her hand underneath the table.

"How long have you two been married?" asked Zoya.

"Three months," Peter replied.

Observing the loving couple, Zoya couldn't help but compare them to Freddy and Zoya. Although very close in age, Margot and Sasha were miles apart in temperament and personality. She couldn't help but wonder how Sasha would have turned out if she and Margot had grown up knowing one another.

"My second husband, Sasha's stepfather, was Jewish," she told Margot. "His parents left Russia before the Revolution to escape the pogroms. He made a fortune as a cloth merchant in New York City but was killed in the war."

"My father worked at Macy's Department Store for a year when he was very young," Margot replied. "He went back home when my grandfather died. When the war started, he tried to get us all into the United States but wasn't able to."

"It's such a fortunate thing that I just happened to run into Peter when I did," Alexandra remarked.

"I can't bear to think what might have happened if you hadn't," added Peter.

"Perhaps a trip to Germany will do you good," Zoya said to her daughter. "I'll be happy to care for Marina for a few weeks."

Peter and Margot were just about to say good-bye when Alexei and Rachel arrived. "I'm so sorry I was rude to you," Rachel said to Peter. "I was bitter about what happened to my brother, and I took it out on you. Will you forgive me?"

"Of course!" Peter went to her and embraced her. "Think nothing more of it. I know how bad it hurts to lose someone you love."

"Did you lose someone in the war, too?" asked Rachel.

"Fortunately, no, but my sister lost her fiance at Stalingrad. She's only a little over a year older than me, and we've always been so close that seeing her in pain was almost like experiencing it myself."

"I'm so sorry for your loss," said Rachel.

"As I am for yours," Peter replied.

* * *

The return to Bessungen passed without incident, and Sasha was thrilled to meet Fritz Gaebel, Sr. "Peter told me you were the kitchen boy for Aunt Alix's family when she was young," she said to him.

"Indeed I was!" Fritz replied. "I always thought she was the loveliest creature in the world. It broke my heart when she went to St. Petersburg to marry the Tsar."

By now it was very late, so Sasha was ensconced in a guest bedroom and the family retired for the night. She was introduced to Uschi and Martin at breakfast the following morning.

"I can't believe how much you resemble your brother," she said to Martin.

He chuckled. "That's what everyone says."

"So have you ever met Aunt Alix yourself?"

"No, but I've been past the palace she grew up in lots of times. It's not far from here at all. I'll take you there today, if you like."

"Oh, yes!" Sasha breathed.


	19. Rain

"I could take you there in the car, or we could take a _Spaziergang,_ a long, leisurely stroll. There's a lot of picturesque scenery along the way," said Martin.

Sasha frowned. "But wouldn't that be an awfully long way to push this wheelchair?"

"Not at all! I could use the exercise."

As Martin had said, the countryside was beautiful. Different varieties of trees and flowering shrubs lined the walkway, and a pond was partially obscured by a dense thicket of purple and deep pink flowers.

"What kind are they?" asked Sasha.

"Azaleas."

"It's funny, but I've never had much of an appreciation for nature before," Sasha remarked. "I suppose that's what comes of growing up in New York City."

"Nature has always brought me closer to God," Martin replied. "I see evidence of His handiwork everywhere I look. I don't know about you, but to me, it's a comfort to know that even after the ravages of war, vestiges of beauty still remain."

"So were you in Paris with Peter during the occupation?"

"No. I was exempted from military service because of my heart murmur."

"Is it serious?"

"Not really. I just get a bit winded when I over exert myself."

At last they reached the Ducal Palace. It was cream-colored with red trim, and had four rows of windows at each end with a section in the middle with only three rows of windows. Fortunately, it had been spared the British fire bombs.

"That's the biggest building I've ever seen!" Sasha exclaimed.

"Of course it's big. It's a palace."

"So did Aunt Alix have have all this space just to run around and play in when she was a little girl?"

Martin frowned. "Of course not. Much of it was servant's quarters. She was half English, you know. Queen Victoria was her grandmother."

"I know. Mama told us all about her when we were little. So who lives here now?"

"No one. Alix's brother was forced to give up his throne in 1918, right before the Wiemar Republic took over. My father was named for him, his middle name, I mean."

"And your oldest brother was named for your father, right?"

"Right, and my second brother, Hans, was named for my grandfather on my mother's side. His name was Adolf Schweitzer. It used to be just a name, you know."

"And I was named for Aunt Alix, while my older brother was named both for our Uncle Nicolai who died before we were born and Uncle Nicky. So what were you saying about the Wiemar Republic?"

"They took over after the Kaiser abdicated. Things were pretty good for awhile, but then the Great Depression hit, and that was what brought the Nazis to power."

"We were very rich before the Depression. We lost all our money and my father died, and after that we were very poor and had to live in a small apartment and Mama had to go to work at night. Then the fire happened and we lost Sava, and then Mama started working for Axelle, and then she married Simon and we were rich again."

"Sava?"

"Our dog. Aunt Alix and Maria gave her to Mama right before the Revolution." By now, they'd reached the entrance to the palace. Once inside, a strong melancholy swept over Sasha as she saw how deserted and abandoned everything looked: dusty furniture, faded linens, long-neglected furnishings.

"It's more a museum now than anything else," Martin remarked.

"I think it's really sad." Tears came to Sasha's eyes as as it occurred to her that the interior of the palace was a reflection of her own life. Once everything had been bright and new, full of purpose and hope, and now all that remained were shadows, ghosts of what once had been.

"I was so foolish." Her voice was soft. "I had it all, and I threw it all away."

Martin frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I had a mother who loved me and had worked hard to take care of me, a stepfather who provided me with every material comfort I could wish for and tried his best to fill the empty spaces, but to me, that wasn't enough. I was still so angry and bitter about the loss of my father and my childhood home and possessions I'd made up my mind that nothing else could ever take the place of them."

"I was horrible." Sasha's voice was heavy with regret. "Drinking, boys, cigarettes - I did it all, with abandon. I got myself thrown out of one fancy, expensive school after another with my behavior. I even tried to seduce my own stepfather." She looked into Martin's eyes, expecting to see shock; instead she saw acceptance, understanding.

"When I met Freddy, I realized that we were truly birds of a feather. He was just as wild as I was. Both of us were just a couple of spoiled rich kids raising as much hell as we could, never caring one bit who we hurt in the process. When my beautiful Marina was born, instead of staying home to take care of her, I kept up the same old lifestyle, leaving her with a babysitter while I went out and partied."

"When the accident happened, I was very angry and railed at how unfair it all was that I was left paralyzed and in a wheelchair, but lately I've been doing a lot of thinking, and now I realize that I got exactly what I deserved."

They were about a quarter of the way home before Martin spoke again. "It's not too late, you know."

"What are you talking about?"

He stopped the wheelchair and knelt before it so that his eyes were level with hers, taking her hands into his own as he gazed into them. "With Him, it's never too late. He can take the most ruined, wasted life and turn it into something beautiful and precious. That's why He died, to give us all a second chance, even as undeserving as we are."

"I've never been particularly religious."

"That doesn't matter."

They'd journeyed a mile or so further when Sasha spoke again. "I don't think I ever really loved Freddy. He was good looking and had a sexy body and I lusted after him, and he was exciting and fun to be with, but that's all. I never even really mourned him after he died, either. I was too busy feeling sorry for myself to even think about anyone else, even my own husband and baby."

"We've all made mistakes," Martin replied. "I've certainly made my share, but no matter how low you've sunk, you're never without hope."

"There were so many men." She was sobbing now, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. "Before Freddy, and even after. We both cheated on each other, and now look at me, helpless in this wheelchair. How could any man ever love me?"

He stopped the wheelchair and knelt before it, and this time, he brushed the hair back from her face with his fingertips. "I have no doubt such a man exists, Sasha."

They were about three quarters of the way home when the rain started.


	20. Sasha's Birthday

The wheelchair's wheels were soon stuck in the mud, and after a valiant struggle, Martin snatched Sasha from its seat and darted in the direction of home as fast as his legs could carry him. Sasha clung to his neck with both arms, burying her face in the front of his shirt to protect it from the sharp sting of the raindrops.

When they reached the house, the others quickly pulled them inside. Someone took Sasha from Martin, and the next thing she knew, Uschi and Margot were peeling her wet clothing from her body and rubbing her skin with thick, soft towels. Tears of humiliation came to her eyes. Soaking wet and helpless, she was completely dependent upon the kindness of others. When at last she was lying in bed, wearing fresh clothing, she was too embarrassed even to thank them.

However, once they'd gone, a disturbing thought came to her. Martin! He had a heart murmur, yet he'd ran at least several miles in the rain, holding her, protecting her. What if...?

Forgetting all about her disability, she tried to jump from the bed to go and check on him, only to slump beside it in a jumble of arms and legs. Right away he was there, lifting her in his arms once again.

"Were you trying to fly?" he teased.

"I was so _scared!_ If all that running with me in your arms did something to your heart, I'd never forgive myself! I just _had_ to make sure you were all right!"

"You were worried about _me?"_ She could hear the amazement in his voice. "I was worried sick about _you!_ If you were to catch pneumonia, it wouldn't be a good situation at all."

"I didn't even think about _that."_ She was sitting on the bed now, and he was sitting beside her with his arms around her. In the soft warmth of his embrace, she felt a bit drowsy and rested her head on his shoulder. He pulled her closer.

"Please don't worry about me, Sasha. I'm fine." His voice was soft, and as he stroked her hair, she yawned. Thunder continued to rumble outside. He laid her back on the bed and covered her with a quilt. "Rest now, _liebchen."_ He tucked the quilt around her shoulders and rubbed her back until she fell asleep.

When she awakened, he was there with a steaming bowl of something that smelled delicious. "My mother made some soup for you."

She sat up and he fed it to her. She devoured every mouthful except for a couple of drops. "This is so good," she told him. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

He raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Would you rather I _not_ be nice to you?"

"Of course not!" she giggled. "I just wondered why. I mean...I'm an American, and all."

"In case you haven't noticed, the war's over now. Besides, I don't care where you're from, and neither does He."

After the rain stopped, he went back to retrieve her wheelchair.

* * *

"Mama!" Sasha was surprised, but happy, to hear her mother's voice. "How's Marina?"

"She's a beautiful baby, and she's growing so fast! You _are_ coming to Paris for your birthday, aren't you?"

"My birthday?" She couldn't believe that, in the midst of all the changes taking place in her life, she'd quite forgotten that she was about to turn twenty-one. The thought of seeing her baby girl again brought a deep longing to her heart, and yet here with the Gaebels, she'd found peace for the first time in her life, and that made it difficult for her to contemplate leaving, even for a little while.

"Why, of course, dear. I'm inviting your older brother as well, but there won't be any point in his coming if you don't show up, will there?"

"Of course I'll come," Sasha replied.

She was eating a meal with the Gaebels when she broke the news. "I'm going to visit my mother in Paris for my birthday," she announced. "If one of you will take me to the train station, I've arranged for someone there to pick me up."

"Unless you especially want to take the train, I'd be delighted to drive you to Paris," Martin offered.

"Oh no, I wouldn't want to impose!"

Martin grinned. "It wouldn't be an imposition at all! I'd love to see Paris. I didn't get to before, you know." He glanced at Peter, who looked down.

Sasha smiled back, pleased that she'd have the pleasure of his company on the drive this time.

They left early in the morning and arrived at their destination around lunch time. Nicholas Andrews, who was managing his late stepfather's fabric empire in the United States, had come to Paris on his mother's request, although in light of his sister's past behavior, he was reluctant to see her again.

He'd been overjoyed to meet his distant cousins, especially Alexei. "I was born on your birthday, exactly seventeen years later," he'd told the former Tsarevich.

"Were you really?" Alexi had been surprised and pleased.

"Mama always kept you and your family alive for us in her memories," Nicholas had replied. "We were all so happy and excited to hear you'd come back, but then the Depression happened and our father died, and then the war came. I'm so glad we have the chance to meet at last."

"So am I," Alexei had said.

Sasha greeted her mother and brother warmly and introduced Martin to everyone. "How ironic that less than a year ago, we were enemies, and now we're about to share a meal together," Nicholas observed, recalling his days as a bomber.

"Indeed," Martin agreed.

Little Marina was seven months old now and teething. "Oh, my baby!" Sasha took the plump child into her arms, but Marina stiffened and began to cry.

Sasha was surprised and hurt. "I'm your Mama! Don't you remember me?"

"Sing to her," Zoya suggested. "She loves that."

"But I don't know any lullabies!" Sasha was near panic.

"May I?" Martin took Marina from her. _"Weibt du, wieviel kinder fruhe stehn aus ihrem Bettlien auf,"_ he sang to her. _"Dab sie ohne Sorg und Muhe frohlich sind in Tageslouf? Gott in Himmel hat an allen seine Lust, sein Wohlgfallen; kennt auch dich und hat dich lieb."_

Marina stopped crying and gurgled up at him.


	21. Just In Time

Paul chuckled. "She likes you, Martin. Looks like you'll have to keep her."

"That depends on what her mother wants," Martin replied.

An awkward silence followed. Martin looked at Sasha with longing in his eyes, but she couldn't return his gaze. After a moment, he gave a resolute sigh.

"Well, I suppose we should go ahead and eat before the food gets cold," Zoya said at last. Most of those present began to eat, although none of them had much of an appetite.

It was fortunate that Jules, Maria, and their large brood, which now included one-year-old Anton, were present, as with the antics of the little ones, none of the guests could keep a straight face for very long. Nicholas had also brought Anne Frank, who was intrigued by her brother-in-law's older brother.

"I can't wait to talk to him!" she exclaimed.

"I don't think he's in much of a mood for talking right now," Nicholas replied.

"Oh, he'll get over it! I can't begin to tell you how many admirers I used to have, and how disappointed they always were when I told them I only wanted to be friends. Did I ever tell you about Hello Silberberg?"

"Um...I don't remember." Nicholas was desperate to change the subject.

"He was my friend Wilma's cousin, and I met him right before we had to leave Amsterdam. He was Margot's age, but he liked me."

"Well, I'm sorry I interrupted your budding romance."

"Oh, don't be silly! To me, he was just a friend."

"But I was only thirteen when we met in person." Something occurred to him which made his heart begin to pound faster. "Tell me something, Anne."

"What?"

"Do you like me for myself, or just because my grandfather used to be the Tsar?"

"Oh, that's right! He _was,_ wasn't he! I'd completely forgotten!"

Nicholas was dizzy with relief.

* * *

"You have such a large family!" Sasha exclaimed, watching Denis and Sara chase one another around the living room.

Maria laughed. "When I was younger, I wrote in my diary that I wanted to marry a Russian soldier and have twenty children. Nastya stole it and read it and never stopped teasing me about it." A shadow fell across her face. "Talking about the old days always makes me feel so nostalgic."

"Mama used to talk about them a lot, too. You always meant so much to her. I think she grieved more for you than for all the others put together."

"My dearest Zoya." Maria smiled and squeezed the young woman's hand. "Well, it all came out all right in the end, didn't it?"

Observing her daughter in conversation with her favorite cousin, Zoya couldn't believe the change that had come over Sasha. It was as if her brief stay in Germany had transformed her.

She also observed that from what she could tell about him so far, Martin was probably just about as much the polar opposite of Freddie as he could be.

Later in the day, Anne did get the chance to speak with him. "Why didn't Margot come with you? Mama and Papa would have loved to see her again."

"She was feeling under the weather and didn't want to pass her illness on to everyone else."

"Please give her my love."

"Of course I will."

Gradually, the guests departed until only Paul, Zoya, Matthew, Martin, and Sasha remained. "You _will_ stay the night, won't you?" Zoya asked Martin.

"The use of your sofa would be appreciated."

"Nonsense! There's plenty of room in Matthew's bedroom."

"Only if you're sure it won't be an imposition."

"If it would be I wouldn't have mentioned it."

Sasha was preparing for bed in the spare bedroom that night when she heard a gentle rap on the door. She opened it to see Martin standing there. "I just wanted to say good-night." He turned to leave, and she watched his retreating back until she could stand it no longer.

"Martin?"

He wheeled around, eyebrows raised, mouth agape, and took a few steps in her direction.

"What's wrong? You've hardly said a word to me at all since we got here!"

He cleared his throat, shuffling his feet. "Well, I just thought that since...you know..."

"Don't you like me anymore?" He saw that there were tears in her eyes.

"I care for you a great deal, Sasha, and I'm sorry for what I said earlier. I shouldn't have put you on the spot in front of the others."

"What you said made me very happy."

"Then why did you look away?"

She groaned. "Oh, Martin, what kind of wife could I be to you in this wheelchair? I don't even know if I can still...you know..." She blushed a deep red and stared down at her hands.

"I don't see any reason why you couldn't, and likely it's far overrated, anyway."

She gasped, shocked. "You mean you never..."

He burst out laughing at the expression on her face.

"But don't you want children? I don't know whether I can still have them or not."

"More children would be nice, but even if it never were to happen, we'd still have Marina, and she's a beautiful baby, the prettiest little girl I've ever met." He chuckled. "I'm afraid she's already stolen my heart."

Tears were flowing freely down Sasha's face now. "You could...love her? Even though she's not your own?"

"How could I _not_ love her?"

* * *

Martin and Sasha returned to Germany with Marina the following day, and were married in the church at which Martin served as a deacon a few weeks later. Spring became summer, and one hot July afternoon, Peter arrived home all smiles. "Come with me," he urged Margot, taking her hand and leading her toward the door.

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise!"

They got into the car, and he drove for about ten minutes, then pulled up in front of a charming little cottage. It was white, and the door was trimmed in brown. The roof was thatched and angled sharply upwards, and the front yard was bordered by a raised flower bed made of rocks of different sizes.

Peter stepped beside Margot and took her hand. "Well, what do you think?"

"It's lovely! Is it truly ours?"

"I just made the down payment on it today."

"Oh, Peter!" Thrilled, she hugged and kissed him as he laughed, then stepped back and gazed into his eyes. "Just in time, too." She smiled as she took his hand and placed it on her abdomen.

He gasped. "Are you, really?"

"I just found out today. I was waiting for the perfect time to tell you.'

He laughed in pure joy as he picked her up and spun her around, then very gently set her back down.


	22. Kira's New Kitten

"Well, what do you know - I'm going to be an aunt!" Anne exclaimed. She and Nicholas were walking hand-in-hand in the Tuileres Garden.

"Wow! When?"

"Margot's due in February. We just got a letter from her. Peter's buying them a house, and it's ever so charming! She sent us a photograph. She says she's been using the spare bedroom as a craft room, but they'll turn it into a nursery before the baby comes, of course, and Peter's making a cradle for him or her. She says it's utterly adorable!"

Nicholas smiled. "That's great. Congratulations. I'm happy for you."

She frowned. "Mama and Papa want to go to Germany to see them when the baby gets here, but I'll still be in school in February. I don't think it would be good to leave for that long, especially since it's my last year."

Nicholas chuckled. "Well, I've no shortage of relatives you could stay with while they're gone."

"But I want to see the baby, too! Whatever shall I do?"

"How about if we go to Germany together after we graduate? It'll be a nice vacation for us, and the baby will be only a little over three months old then."

Anne's eyes lit up. "Oh, could we? Really?"

"Sure. Why not?"

* * *

Peter watched as Margot lit the Shabbat candles. Free at last to practice her religion at home, the new wife never failed to observe the most important night of the week. Peter had always simply sat on the sofa, watching but offering no input.

"What do the candles stand for?" he asked now, suddenly curious.

"This one represents the commandment to refrain from forbidden activity on the Sabbath," she told him. "And this one represents the commandment to remember the Sabbath with our words, thoughts, and actions."

Peter smiled. "So it's a ritual to remind you to remember a ritual?"

Margot laughed. "I never really thought of it that way before, but yes, I suppose you're right."

When both candles were burning brightly, she began to sing. _"Adon olam, asher malakh, b'terem kol yetzer niv'ra."_

Peter stood and walked over to her, and she smiled and took his hand. Having heard the song many times before, he was familiar with it and so began to sing along with her.

* * *

In August, Nicholas, Anne, and Alexander entered their final year of high school. Kira and the twins, Luc and Lara, who were one grade behind them, walked to school with them, as did Anatoly, who was two grades behind.

"It's not fair," Kira complained. "Just because I'm a few weeks younger than you three, I have to go to school a whole extra year."

"Look at it this way," said Alexander. "When we were all little, you got to stay home and play an extra year while we had to start school."

"I'd rather have started earlier so I could finish earlier," Kira replied.

"Sorry, but you'll just have to take that up with Aunt Anastasia and Uncle Dimitri," said Nicholas.

"It's funny how my parents have been married longer than yours, but yours had a baby first," Kira remarked.

"It just happens that way sometimes," said Alexander.

Just then, a dirty grey kitten appeared. It began to mew and weave in and out of Kira's legs. She picked it up and held it aloft. "Oh, aren't you a darling little thing!" she exclaimed. Determined not to let it wander away, she stuffed it into her satchel and walked on.

Kira's new teacher was about halfway through the day's first lesson when a fuzzy little grey head peeked out of her book bag. Kira didn't even notice it at first, but several other students did and began to giggle.

The teacher stopped talking and glared at the class. "Just _what_ is so funny?

"Kira brought her kitten to class," said a boy named Gaston.

Kira's face burned as she looked down and saw the kitten's head poking out. "I found him on the way to school today," she told the teacher. "He looked awfully hungry, so I decided to take him home and feed him."

The teacher glared for just a minute or so more, then laughed. "Well, I'm afraid he can't stay in class with us. You'll just have to put him outside until it's time to go home."

"But he'll run away!"

The teacher went to a closet and returned with a box. "Cut some holes in the top for air, and I think he'll be OK for a few hours."

"Thanks!" Kira did as she'd suggested and took the kitten outside. After the school day ended, she took it home with her. Inessa and Nikita were thrilled to see the new pet, Joy much less so. As soon as he saw the kitten, he began to growl low in his throat, and all his fur stood on end. Kira snatched the kitten up and shielded it against her dress.

Anastasia laughed. "Well, I don't know what we're going to do about this situation."

* * *

After several weeks of adjustment, Joy became accustomed to the new kitten, who was named Smoky. He never did really like him but eventually came to tolerate him.

On October 15, Hermann Goring bit down on a cyanide capsule two hours before he was due to be hung, and the following day, Hans Frank, Wilhelm Frick, Alfred Jodl, Ernst Kaltenbrunner, Wilhelm Keitel, Joachim von Ribbentrop, Alfred Rosenberg, Fritz Sauckel, and Arthur Seyss-Inquart were hung. Stark black-and-white photographs of several of the dead men were published in the newspaper. Margot was pouring coffee for Peter when she heard him gasp.

"What is it?" she asked.

Without a word, he showed her the newspaper article. "Oh, my God," she whispered. Her eyes met her husband's, and they knew that they were both thinking about the same fateful day. When they embraced, she clung to him a bit longer than usual.

Hanukkah that year was December 17-24. On the last night, Peter and Margot sat watching the eight candles glow on the menorah, which rested on a small table right beside the Christmas tree.

"Just think." Margot ran her hand over her swollen abdomen, feeling their child's movements within. "This time a year from now, we'll have a little one to share this lovely season with." She laughed. "My parents have a photograph of me with melted gelt smeared all over my face. I was about three or four. I'll ask them to show it to you sometime."

"Did I ever tell you about the very first Christmas tree?" Peter pulled his wife closer, and she rested her head on his shoulder. "One night before Christmas, Martin Luther was walking through the forest when he stopped and gazed up at the stars through the branches of a tree. It was so beautiful that he took the tree home to his children and adorned the branches with candles to represent stars. He told them it reminded him of Jesus, who left the stars to come down and live among men."

"When I was a little boy, in church they showed us a really old picture, from about the time of King Henry VIII. It showed a Christmas tree being carried down the street with St. Nicholas riding behind it on a horse. My parents always told us that if we got curious and stayed up to try to see the Christkind, he wouldn't bring us any presents."

"Don't you think that sounds just a bit manipulative?" asked Margot. "I don't think children should ever be discouraged from being curious."

Peter chuckled. "Perhaps, but it always worked."


	23. Wilhelm

It was a little after lunch one quiet Sunday afternoon when Margot's backache began. Since it was the weekend, she and Peter were both home. She'd been staying with Peter's family during the week so that in case she went into labor while Peter was at work, she wouldn't be alone.

Although she wasn't the type to complain about physical discomfort, Peter heard her sharp intake of breath and saw her grab her back, and his brow furrowed with concern. "Are you all right, darling?"

"My back hurts just a little. If I lie down for awhile, I'm sure it'll pass soon."

She did so, but found that she was too uncomfortable to rest. The discomfort gradually increased, so much so that at last she gave up trying to nap and walked into the living room, where Peter was putting the finishing touches on the cradle. She'd no sooner stepped into the room than she felt a sudden wetness, and then a puddle of water formed at her feet.

"Peter! Get Uschi...now!" Uschi was a midwife and had agreed to deliver her younger brother's child.

Peter dashed to the telephone and called his sister, then returned to his wife. "She's on her way, sweetheart. Everything's going to be all right." He embraced her and rubbed her back. "Come on. You'll be more comfortable if you lie down." He led her back into the bedroom and helped her lie down, then sat beside her, holding her hand and speaking to her in soothing tones, until Uschi arrived and quickly shifted into efficiency mode, shooing Peter out of the room, despite his protests.

"You'd only be in the way," she told him. "Go boil a big pot of water, and bring me the warmest blankets you have and a pair of scissors. Everything has to be absolutely sterile."

Once the door was shut behind Peter, she examined Margot. "You're in labor, all right," she told her. "It'll be a few hours. Try to get as much rest as you can. Believe me, you'll need it later."

But Margot was too excited to go to sleep. After all this time, at last she would hold her sweet baby in her arms! A child that was a part of her and also a part of Peter, a product of their love, yet at the same time, its own unique person. She wondered what it would look like. Would their son or daughter have Peter's silky blond hair and blue eyes, her own wavy dark brown locks and almond eyes, Peter's hair and her eyes, or vice versa?

While Margot dealt with her contractions, which grew in intensity every hour, Peter paced outside the door, more anxious than he'd ever been before in his life. He'd heard so many stories of pregnancies that had gone well but ended in tragedy: women who'd bled to death after giving birth, women who'd developed infections and lingered in fevered pain for days. Sometimes it happened to fast they never even had the chance to hold their babies.

Dear God, please spare her! he begged. I couldn't bear to lose her! I love her more than life itself!

Despite the almost unbearable pain, Margot refused to cry out. Uschi wiped her forehead with a cool, moist cloth as she writhed and grasped at the sheets. "Go ahead and scream, if you want to," Uschi encouraged her sister-in-law.

Margot shook her head. "Peter...just outside...the door...mustn't scare him..."

When at last she could bear it no longer and cried out, Peter opened the door a tiny crack and peered in. It just so happened that at that exact moment, the newborn slid from its mother's body into Uschi's waiting hands. Overcome with awe, he watched as his sister gently laid the infant on its mother's chest, and Margot began to caress her new child and speak softly to the baby.

Suddenly aware that he'd just witnessed a scene not intended for masculine eyes, he closed the door and stood just outside it, waiting. A few minutes later, it swung open and Uschi stood there, her eyes shining with joy.

"Congratulations," she said. "You have a beautiful, healthy son."

"Is Margot all right?"

Uschi sighed. "It was a difficult delivery. Your son has broad shoulders, and it was a tight fit. She lost quite a bit of blood, but the bleeding's tapered off now, and I think she'll be all right."

She stepped aside so that he could enter the room, and he stepped inside to see a smiling Margot holding her now-swaddled son. Her face was pale but glowing.

"My son!" His voice was barely a whisper as he took the warm little bundle into his arms, marveling at the infant's tiny, yet perfectly formed, face. "He looks like you, Gretchen!"

"He has your nose," Margot pointed out. "Thank goodness."

Peter smiled, relief flooding through him that it was all over, that Margot had survived. "Ah, you have a beautiful nose, my love."

"I don't, but thank you."

His fingers lightly traced her cheek. "Was it very dreadful for you?"

"I felt like I was about to die, but as soon as it was over and he was here, all I could think about was what a miracle he is."

Peter had to swallow the lump in his throat. "I love you so much more now than I did before!" He held her tight, relishing the softness of her hair against his chin.

"Do you realize what day it is?" she asked.

He frowned. "No."

"It's February sixteenth. I'm twenty-one years old today."

"Oh, Gretchen, I'm so sorry! How could I have ever forgotten?"

"It's quite all right. You've given me the best birthday present I ever could have wished for."

It had already been decided that if they had a son, he would be named Wilhelm, for Peter's paternal grandfather. "Please, can his middle name be Shlomo?" asked Margot.

Peter frowned. "Shlomo?"

"It means 'peace'."

"Well, then, by all means!" Peter kissed his son's forehead. "Welcome to the world, Wilhelm Shlomo Gaebel."

Margot's heart swelled with love for her husband and son.


	24. A Visit From Nicholas And Anne

"What are you thinking so hard about?" Nicholas asked Anne, whose brows were furrowed in concentration.

"I'm trying really hard to remember every little detail of this day, so that when I write a story about it, my readers will be able to experience themselves through my words."

The two of them were on a train, traveling to Bessungen to meet Anne's new nephew. They'd just graduated high school the previous weekend. Anne had been voted the girl most likely to succeed and had announced right away that she intended to become a world-famous author. "I shall write about everything that has happened to me, so that even after I die, I shall never be forgotten," she'd vowed.

"I could never forget you, even if I tried," Nicholas had told her, his lip curling into a half smile. "Although there are times I wish I could."

She'd stuck her tongue out at him, and he'd tickled her.

At last the train arrived at its destination, and the pair disembarked to find a smiling Peter waiting for them beside his car. "Did you have a nice trip?" he asked as he opened the door for them.

"It was really interesting!" Anne replied. "While we were riding through Luxembourg, we saw a herd of deer right beside the train tracks, and they didn't seem afraid at all. They just stood there watching us, and a young buck ran right up to the train. He was so close I could have almost reached my hand out through the window and touched him. How's Margot?"

"She and the baby are fine. She's thrilled you're coming to visit. She can't wait to see you again."

"And I can't wait to meet Wilhelm!" Anne squealed. "I'll bet he's really growing fast!"

"Oh, yes!" Peter laughed. "My mother and Uschi are constantly making him new clothes because he keeps outgrowing the old ones."

At last they reached Peter and Margot's home, where Margot stood on the front porch, holding Wilhelm. Her dark hair was pulled back and held in place with a red scarf, her round cheeks were pink with health, and her eyes were shining.

"Oh, can I hold him?" asked Anne.

"Of course!" her older sister replied.

Anne reached for her nephew, but no sooner was he in her arms than he primped up and began to cry. Anne frowned. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Not at all! He just needs to get to know you. When he does, he'll be happy to let you hold him."

The group went into the house. "You remember Martin and Sasha," said Peter. Martin sat on the sofa, and Sasha sat beside him in her wheelchair. They were smiling and holding hands, and Sasha's other hand rested on her gently rounded abdomen as Marina toddled around, examining one item after another. She saw the newcomers, and her eyes widened as she stared at them.

"What a big girl you are now!" Anne exclaimed. Marina grinned, showing a full set of teeth. "How old is she now?" Marina asked Sasha.

"Twenty-one months."

"And you'll soon have another! I think that's wonderful!"

"It's a miracle," Sasha replied. "I was so afraid I'd never be able to give Martin a child. I thank God every day for the many blessings He's given me, and continues to give me."

"Of course, I love Marina just as much as I'll love her new sister or brother." Martin held his arms out to the toddler, and she ran into them.

* * *

"You'll need to know how to do this, for when you have a baby of your own," Margot told her younger sister. Anne watched as Margot removed Wilhelm's shirt and diaper, then placed him in the miniature bathtub filled with lukewarm water, where he gurgled and splashed with his hands.

"You love your bath, don't you?" Margot asked her son in a lilting voice. His dark eyes looked straight at her as he cooed in response. She dampened a small wash cloth and used it to massage his scalp, which was covered with fine dark hair.

"You have to wash and dry thoroughly, so there's no cradle cap," she told Anne. She continued to wash the rest of the baby's body, singing softly to him as she did so. _"In nestl shlofn di feygelekh, Farmakh zhe dayne eygelekh."_

Wilhelm watched her lips with rapt attention, not making a sound, but when she was almost finished, he began to whimper. "You're hungry, aren't you?" she asked him. She took him from the bath and laid him on a big, fluffy towel, patted him dry, and dressed him in a fresh diaper and shirt. His whimpering grew to a thin wail, which ended as soon as she opened the front of her dress and began to nurse him.

"You really _were_ hungry, weren't you?" she laughed.

"That's amazing, how you can feed him right from your own body," Anne commented.

"So can you, when your time comes," Margot replied.

* * *

Nicholas and Anne lay together in the hammock in the back yard, holding hands underneath a twilight sky in which several stars were already twinkling. "I wonder what it's like," Anne mused.

"What _what's_ like?" asked Nicholas.

"To be Sasha. To know that you'll never run through the grass and feel the wind in your hair, you'll never walk along the beach and feel the sand between your toes. I don't think I could bear it."

"She seems happy in spite of it," Nicholas remarked.

Anne shuddered. "I heard that in the camps, all cripples were gassed right away."

"I don't want to think about it," said Nicholas.

"My family and I could just as easily have ended up there as well."

"But you didn't. Please, Anne, can't we talk about something else?" He'd seen photographs of concentration camp survivors, their skin stretched tightly over their skeletal frames, their eyes large and hollow. The thought of his beloved Anne as one of them was more than he could bear.

"You know that I shall become a famous authoress, but I haven't a clue what _you_ want to be."

"I want to be a sailor, like my father. I don't talk about it too much because I'm afraid it won't happen. Did I ever tell you how my parents met each other? My father was an officer on the _Standart._ He and my mother fell in love, but they knew they could never marry, because my mother had to marry a foreign prince. She was introduced to Prince Carol of Romania and didn't like him at all!" Nicholas laughed. "My grandparents told her they'd never force her to marry a man she didn't love."

"Anyway, my father married someone else, and my mother was devastated. His first wife died of the flu in 1918, and about ten years later, he and my mother were reunited. Their feelings for each other came right back, and they got married shortly afterwards."

"How romantic!" Anne gushed. "I'd love to write a story about that!"

"Do it!"


	25. Clayton

The summer days flew by, and Sasha's abdomen swelled as the child within grew. Its movements were soon visible beneath its mother's clothing. "I remember how active Marina was before she was born," Sasha reminisced to Martin one evening as they sat relaxing on the front porch swing. Sasha's wheelchair sat beside it. After much practice, she'd learn to transfer her body to the swing unassisted; even so, Martin had a very difficult time watching her without offering a helping hand. He knew it was a matter of pride for her.

"She used to move so much at night that sometimes I couldn't sleep..." Her voice trailed off. Martin saw a ripple move across her abdomen. He placed her hand over it, and she smiled.

Marina toddled over and handed her mother a flower she'd just picked. "Pretty, Mama."

"Yes, it is," Sasha agreed. "Is it for me?"

The little girl nodded, her finger in her mouth.

"Thank you!" Sasha attempted to lift her into her lap, but she didn't quite fit. Marina crawled into Martin's lap instead, where there was plenty of room for her. Both adults laughed.

"In just a couple of months, you can sit in your Mama's lap again," said Martin.

Due to Sasha's condition, a home birth was out of the question, as it would be far too dangerous, so Martin would have to drive his wife the short distance to the hospital in Darmstadt for the delivery. Dr. Hartwig had told the couple the signs to watch for that would indicate Sasha was in labor.

There had already been several false alarms when one chilly night in late October, Sasha turned to her husband. "It's time," was all she said.

Martin's eyes grew wide. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

A flurry of activity followed as Martin wheeled his wife out to the car, then went to fetch Marina, who was already asleep. She awakened and rubbed her eyes. "Go bye-bye?"

"Yes," Martin told her. "It's time for your baby brother or sister to be born."

"Baby born..." As he laid the little girl in the back seat and tucked a blanket around her, she slipped her thumb into her mouth and was soon fast asleep again.

Although it was only a short drive to Peter and Margot's, to Martin, it seemed to take much longer. As they parked the car, Margot ran out to meet them. Martin opened the back door, scooped the slumbering toddler into his arms, and handed her to his sister-in-law.

"I'll say a prayer for you." Margot cast a worried look in Sasha's direction.

"Thanks. I'm sure we'll need it."

After what seemed an eternity to Martin, they finally reached the hospital, where Sasha was wheeled back right away. "I'll call Dr. Hartwig," the receptionist told them.

"May I please stay with her until the doctor gets here?" Martin begged.

"Certainly," the receptionist replied.

In the delivery room, Sasha moved from the wheelchair to the bed, where the nurse examined her, then began to prepare for the birth while awaiting the doctor's arrival. Martin held his wife's hand and brushed the hair back from her forehead.

"It's odd," Sasha told him. "There's no pain this time, yet I'm ever so much more afraid than before."

"Everything will be all right," Martin soothed. "It was God's will that this child should come into the world, and both of you are under the protection of His hand."

"I know, but I'm just so scared!"

"I know." He embraced her. "Just keep your mind on Him and His love, and He'll see you through."

Dr. Hartwig arrived a few minutes later and, all business, shooed Martin out of the room.

"Don't leave me!" Sasha cried, panicked.

"It's only for a little while, darling." Martin embraced her again and kissed her. "I'll see you again really soon."

* * *

Marina awoke and found herself in a strange bedroom. She was a bit frightened until she saw Margot. "Aunt Mimi!"

"Good morning, sweetheart." She lifted the little girl from the crib and kissed her cheek. "Just think, before this day's over, you'll have a brand new baby brother or sister!"

"Baby." Marina pointed to Wilhelm, who was still asleep.

"That's right! Just like Wilhelm."

She carried Marina into the kitchen, sat her at the table, and gave her her breakfast. In the meantime, Wilhelm awakened and began to whimper. Margot fetched him and sat at the table with Marina to nurse him. The little girl watched with curious eyes.

"This is how I give Wilhelm _his_ breakfast," Margot explained.

Marina smiled and held out a peace of toast with butter and jam on it. Margot laughed. "He'll have to grow some teeth before he can eat that."

The little girl looked puzzled for just a moment, then finished her breakfast and went to play.

* * *

Martin prayed in silence as he paced back and forth in the waiting room. Please, Lord, watch over her and keep her safe! She's such a brave and caring woman, and I love her so much!

He was so lost in thought that he wasn't even aware of the doctor's approach in the wee hours of the morning until the older man spoke. "Herr Gaebel?"

Martin spun around, his eyes wide. Dr. Hartwig smiled. "You have a fine, healthy son. Six pounds, ten ounces."

"Is Sasha all right?"

"She's fine. You can go in and see her now."

Martin entered the room to see his wife sitting up in bed, smiling and holding the newborn. Tears filled his eyes as he touched the soft, downy head.

"I want to name him Clayton Andrew, for my father." Sasha's voice was soft. "He meant the world to me, and I'll always love him."

Martin nodded. "I've never heard it before, but it's a lovely name." He sat beside the bed and took the tiny bundle into his arms. "Well, hello there!" He smiled, and the infant's unfocused eyes looked up at him. "I can't wait for your big sister to meet you!"

"Neither can I," Sasha added.


	26. A Time To Mourn

"I'd like to show you all this photo of me holding my new grandson." Zoya was all smiles as she handed the photograph to Maria. "Isn't he beautiful?"

"He's adorable!" her cousin agreed, gazing at the photograph before passing it on to Anastasia, who in turn passed it on to the rest of the Romanovs. "How's Sasha?"

"Doing just fine!" Zoya beamed. "I'm amazed at how much she's changed in the past couple of years. It seems strange to say, but in a way, I somehow think the accident was good for her."

The lights of the Christmas tree shone bright as the members of the huge extended family ate, exchanged presents, and chatted. Paul and Zoya had just returned from Germany, where they'd spent several weeks with Sasha and her family.

"A new little one is a beacon of hope, a sign from God that He hasn't yet given up on the human race." Alexandra's hand shook a little as she handed the photograph to her husband. "Don't you agree, Nicky?"

The elderly former Tsar lifted the photograph to inspect it with his fading eyes. "Clayton," he said. "The American whom our Zoya married after she was forced to flee our beloved country."

"Yes," Alexandra replied. "If not for him, she probably wouldn't have survived."

Nicholas frowned. "He was quite a bit older than her, if I remember correctly."

"That never mattered to us, Uncle Nicky," Zoya put in. "We loved one another with all our hearts, and that's all that mattered to us...Uncle Nicky?"

Nicholas had just about doubled over in a paroxysm of coughing. His children and grandchildren looked on with wide eyes as his wife clapped him on the back.

The coughing fit finally ended, and Alexandra handed her husband a glass of water, from which he took several grateful gulps. "Forgive me," he said to his family. "It was just a little spell. I'll be all right."

Nevertheless. a feeling of dread hung over the gathering from that moment on, and the mood was still somber as Dimitri, Anastasia, and their three children returned home late that evening. Only eleven-year-old Nikita kept up a steady chatter.

"Don't you ever shut up?" Inessa snapped at her brother, who stuck his tongue out at her.

Once inside their own home, Anastasia sank onto the sofa and burst into tears. Dimitri was there in a heartbeat, wrapping his arms around her. "What is it, darling?"

"My Papa!" Anastasia sobbed. "This is his last Christmas...I just know it!"

"Sh," Dimitri soothed, stroking her hair. "He just had a coughing spell, that's all. He'll be fine."

Anastasia shook her head. "He's got dropsy! His lungs are so full of fluid he can hardly breathe anymore! Mama won't admit it, but I know that's what's wrong!"

Dimitri didn't know what to say. The image of his father-in-law's slow, agonizing steps, the way he wheezed after even minor exertions, was vivid in his mind. The man who'd once served as commander-in-chief of the Eastern Front could barely make it around his own home now.

Dimitri held his wife and patted her back, feeling her sorrow and wishing he could make everything all right again.

* * *

The year came to a close, and a new one began. Mahatma Gandhi was assassinated, Orville Wright died, and the Winter Olympics opened in St. Moritz, Switzerland, as the former Tsar grew weaker and soon became bedridden. Alexandra remained at his side, nursing him as she'd nursed him through his bout with typhus in 1900.

As the long hours passed, the two reminisced about their many years together. "I'll never forget the very first time I ever saw you," Nicholas told his wife. "You were the loveliest creature I'd ever seen, and I knew right away I'd marry you someday."

"It was at Sergei and Ella's wedding," Alexandra replied. "I was only twelve. We carved our initials into a tree. Remember?"

Nicholas laughed, then began to cough again. "How could I ever forget? We had to wait such a long time to finally be together, but when I finally had my Sunny by my side, it was all worth it."

"Forever and always," Alexandra added.

"Forever and always." Nicholas slipped into a coma moments later, and on March 18, exactly two months before what would have been his eightieth birthday, the former Nicholas II, Tsar of all the Russias, drew his final breath.

* * *

Rather than the lavish funeral that had been afforded his father, Tsar Alexander III, that of Nicholas was a small, private affair, attended primarily by family members and close acquaintances. The priest of the Alexander Nevsky Cathedral gave a touching eulogy.

"Nicholas Romanov was, first and foremost, a devoted family man. Despite his overwhelming responsibilities, he always made time for those he loved most. From the age of sixteen, his heart had room for only one woman, Alix of Hesse. Despite the disapproval of his family and Alix's own great reluctance to part with her Lutheran heritage, their love prevailed, and they were wed on November 26, 1894."

"Their first child, Olga, was born almost a year to the day later, on November 15, 1895. When asked if he was disappointed in his new child"s gender, Nicholas shook his head. 'A son would have belonged to Russia,' he said. 'A daughter shall belong to us.'"

"The births of four more children followed over the next nine years: daughters Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia, and at long last, the much-desired son and heir, Alexei."

"Nicholas and Alexandra's joy was short-lived, however, as it was soon discovered that their new son suffered from the bleeding disorder hemophilia. Many times during early childhood, he lingered near death, until one day, his parents found what they thought would be the answer to their prayers: a peasant monk named Grigori Rasputin."

"Instead of their greatest blessing, Rasputin turned out to be their worst nightmare. As a result of his influence, they eventually lost everything they had: their country, their titles, their home, even their lives."

"A miracle made possible their return twenty years ago, and since then, they've lived private lives as ordinary French citizens, and Alexei Romanov, who'd been cured of his hemophilia, took part in the liberation of his adopted country in 1944, along with his brother-in-law, Dimitri."

"Nicholas Romanov is survived by his wife, Alexandra, five children, nineteen grandchildren, and many nieces, nephews, cousins, and other relatives. Today we say good-bye to a great man, an humble man, a man whose warmth and compassion will be remembered forever by those who loved him."

As they turned to leave the chapel, Dimitri heard his wife gasp and felt her fingernails dig into the skin of his arm like tiny knives. Seeking the source of her reaction, he glanced around and saw that in the very last pew stood Vova Romanov and his mother, Mathilde Kschessinska.


	27. General Orlov

"How _dare_ they show their faces today, of all days?" Anastasia hissed.

"Please, darling, just let it go," Dimitri begged. "You don't want to cause a scene!"

Anastasia's siblings and their spouses began to gather around, curious about the cause of their sister's outburst.

"She's been crying, the poor thing!" Maria handed eighteen-month-old Lydia, the youngest of her ten children, to Zoya before going to give Mathilde a comforting hug.

"Trust Maria to feel sorry for even Mathilde Kschessinska," Anastasia muttered.

"Your presence here today is rather inappropriate." Tatiana fixed Vova with a cold glare.

"My son and I came out of respect for our cousin." Mathilde's husband Andrei put his arm around Vova as he addressed the siblings. "He deeply regrets the trouble he caused you in the past and hopes our mutual grief will prove the basis of a reconciliation."

"Why are you doing all the talking for him?" Anastasia's eyes still blazed. "Can't he speak for himself?"

"Of _course_ I can speak for myself." Vova stared at the floor as he shuffled his feet. "I'm not the same man I was fifteen years ago. I've been through some really hard things, and they've changed me. In 1941, I was arrested by the Gestapo and held in a concentration camp for 144 days. While there, I experienced much I've tried very hard to forget. They tried to get me to support the Germans against the Soviet Union, but I refused. As bad as Stalin may be, he's still no Hitler. After the liberation of France, I worked for the British as an intelligent officer in negotiations with Charles de Gaulle."

"So you helped the government of our adopted country." Alexei was too startled to be upset.

"Indeed I did."

"Dimitri and I both fought at Normandy, along with my brothers-in-law, Matthew and William Brown. Sadly, Matthew was injured during the invasion and later died of his wounds."

"I'm very sorry for your loss." Vova looked awkward for just a moment, then extended a tentative hand, which Alexei shook without hesitation.

"Thanks. It was a really hard blow for Rachel. She'd always been very close to both her brothers."

"Rachel! How has she been?"

Alexei laughed. "Why don't you ask her yourself? She's right here!"

Vova blushed a deep red as Alexei's wife appeared beside her husband. "Can you ever forgive me for what I did to you?" He wasn't able to meet her eyes as he spoke.

Rachel glanced first at Alexei, then back to Vova. "Well, I suppose if I can forgive the Germans for what they did to my brother, I can forgive you, too," she said at last.

In the meantime, the former Tsarina had joined her children. She saw Maria with her arms around Mathilde and glared at her third daughter. "Maria Nikolaevna."

Maria and Mathilde turned toward her. "We both loved him." Mathilde reached for Alexandra, who resisted at first, but then allowed herself to be pulled into an embrace.

* * *

Despite the heat of the summer sun, there was no warmth in the heart of the former Tsarina Alexandra Feodorovna. Life without her beloved husband seemed unbearable to her and, despite the attempts of her children, she refused to allow herself to be consoled. Day after day, one of her daughters, usually Tatiana, would arrive at her mother's home to find the elderly widow poring over old letters and diaries.

"I feel closer to my Nicky when I read his words," she explained to her second daughter on one such occasion.

"It's such a beautiful day," Tatiana replied. "A walk in the sunshine would make you feel so much better."

On the rare occasions when Alexandra agreed, Tatiana took her mother all over Paris: to the Louvre, the Arc de Triomphe, the Palace of Versailles, the Eiffel tower, the Notre Dame Cathedral, the Tuileries Garden, and many other places. Often another daughter or two, or even a grandchild, would accompany them.

As the hot days passed, these outings became more and more frequent. Gradually, Alexandra's deep sorrow mellowed into fond remembrance, and she was once again able to enjoy seeing new sights or revisiting old ones.

One day in late August, soft rain began to fall out of a clear blue sky, and Tatiana realized that, to her chagrin, she hadn't brought an umbrella along. "You two ladies look like you could use some assistance," said a masculine voice nearby. The two women turned to see an elderly man with snow white hair and a neatly trimmed mustache. He wore navy blue pants and a striped shirt with a matching beret. His clothing was worn but clean and well cared for.

"Alexander Orlov at your service." The man smiled as he handed them an umbrella. "I was once a general, but that was a long time ago."

"Dearest Sasha!" Alexandra laughed and clapped her hands together, to the bewilderment of Tatiana. "Oh, I'm so glad you escaped!"

"Your Imperial Highness?" Alexander gave a startled laugh. "Why, imagine seeing you again after all this time! My deepest condolences on the loss of your husband. I was very sad to hear of his passing."

"Thank you," Alexandra replied. "This is my second oldest daughter, Tatiana. General Orlov was the Commandant of my Regiment of Ulanos," she told Tatiana. "He was a dear friend of your father's and mine."

"I lost everything in the February Revolution," said Alexander. "My home burned to the ground, and I escaped to Paris in a troika. I found work as a taxi driver and lived in a tiny apartment with several others for many months. I subsisted on nothing but rutabagas, turnips and gruel and nearly starved to death. Things were just starting to look up when the Depression hit, and then the war right after that. Now I live on a government pension and supplement that by teaching Russian part time at a local university."

"With God as my witness, you shall never want for anything, ever again!" Alexandra cried. "My family and I will find you decent living quarters, and I will personally see to it that you never lack food, clothing, medicine, or anything else you need."

Alexander looked at his feet. "You are too kind."

"Nonsense! As good a friend as you always were to me and Nicky, what else could I do?"

Tatiana's siblings were none too thrilled at the news of their mother's reunion with her old friend. "For shame, Mama!" Olga protested. "Papa's barely been gone for five months!"

"General Orlov is in no way a replacement for your father." Alexandra's voice was firm. "He's simply a dear friend in need whom it is my pleasure to help any way I can."

Maria and Anastasia exchanged knowing glances.


	28. My John Brown

The December wind turned Olga's cheeks pink as she trudged through the snow. She knew exactly where the grave was, as she'd come on an almost weekly basis for the past seven months. Reaching it at last, she knelt at its base, and her gloved hand lightly brushed the snow from the stone, revealing her father's name and the dates of his birth and death.

Carefully she arranged the bouquet she'd brought in the vase and sat back to see the effect. "Our first Christmas without you." The whistling wind almost obliterated her words. "What's it like in heaven this time of year? It must be so lovely to see Grandmama again. Please tell her 'joyeux Noel' for me. Grandpapa too, of course, and our dear uncles."

The wind was making her nose run, and she wished she had a handkerchief. "Mama has found her old friend General Orlov again. He's a nice man, Papa, but nothing to compare with you. Remember all those long talks we used to have at night, when everyone else was asleep? You always talked to me as if I were an adult, as if the difference in our ages didn't matter at all. I miss you so much, Papa. Sometimes I don't know how I can ever bear it."

She sat there for awhile, listening to the wind, shivering despite her warm coat, scarf, hat, and gloves.

"I knew I'd find you here." She looked up to see her husband, Pasha, holding a handkerchief out to her. She took it and thanked him.

He extended his hand to her. "Come on back home, darling. You'll freeze out here." She stood, and he wrapped his arm around her and began to lead her out of the cemetery.

"It's hardest this time of year." Her breath blew little puffs of smoke into the air.

"I know."

"Well, at least Mama has her 'Sasha' to keep her warm." Olga wasn't able to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

"Olga." Pasha's voice was kind but firm as he turned toward her, cupping her face in his hands to look into her eyes. "When I lost my Valentina, it was as if all the light had gone out of my life, and I thought I'd never be happy again. Then ten years later, I learned that you were back, and for the first time since my Valya's death, I felt alive again. I hadn't forgotten my darling, and I never will, but I knew that she was in a better place and that she wanted me to be happy again, too. I never doubted that our union had her complete blessing. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

Olga nodded. "I know he'd want her to be happy, but..." Tears began to flow from her eyes, and his thumbs wiped them away.

"Dearest Olya, I know it's hard for you to see her with another man, but please believe me, the pain will lessen, and after awhile, it won't seem so strange anymore."

She nodded, unable to speak.

Pasha smiled. "I made us some hot chocolate. We'd better get back before it gets cold."

A moment later, she smiled back at him.

* * *

"Marriage?" Alexandra looked startled for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Heavens, no! I'm seventy-six years old!"

Her five children exchanged glances. "It's impossible not to notice how close the two of you have become, and naturally, we were curious as to what might become of it," said Tatiana.

"As you all know, my mother died when I was only six years old, so I was largely raised by my grandmother, Queen Victoria," Alexandra went on. "After my grandfather died, she became very good friends with her Scottish servant, John Brown. They never married but remained close companions. They spent many happy hours together riding horseback or engaged in similar pastimes, and when he died, she mourned him almost as deeply as she'd mourned my grandfather. She was buried with a photograph of him in her left hand, with flowers arranged so no one could see it."

"I've come to think of Sasha as _my_ John Brown. We're very good friends, but that's all we'll ever be."

The Romanov children let out a collective sigh of relief, and as they truly did want their mother to be happy, they each resolved to always treat Alexander Orlov with kindness and respect.

* * *

"Look, Mama! I'm the Sugar Plum Fairy!" Marina cried as she swooped and spun around and around in the Gaebel living room. The three-year-old had been enchanted when her grandmother, Zoya, had taken her to see a production of the 'Nutcracker Suite.'

"Wonderful!" Sasha clapped her hands.

Martin glanced at the little girl on his way to pick up his son, who'd recently learned to walk and was now attempting to pull a shiny red ball from the Christmas tree. "She's such a natural!"

Zoya had expressed the same sentiments about her granddaughter and had even offered to pay for ballet lessons for her, an offer Sasha had graciously accepted.

"Pity, pity!" Clayton looked as if he might cry as he pointed to the ball.

"I know it's pretty, little one, but we must look, not touch," Martin told him.

"Come here, darling." Uschi reached for her nephew. "I've a brand new wooden soldier just for you." The little boy grinned as she handed him the brightly painted toy.

A dizzy Marina soon crashed to the floor, and Uschi's new husband, Ted, laughed as he went to help her up. Ted was an American soldier stationed at the Cambrai-Fritsch Kaserne army base. He and Uschi had met at a tavern near the base earlier in the year and had hit it off right away. Remembering her grief over the loss of Franz six years previously, her family rejoiced that she'd found love again.

Marina reached for Sasha, and Sasha held her daughter and comforted her.

"You're going to be a fine ballerina someday," Martin told the little girl.

"I believe you're right," Sasha agreed.


	29. Unexpected Occurrence

A new decade began. In January, U.S. President Harry S. Truman ordered the development of the hydrogen bomb, in response to the detonation of the Soviet Union's first atomic bomb the previous year. In February, pro-communist riots erupted in Paris, and in April, one of the happiest and most fulfilling events of her life came to Margot Frank Gaebel.

It started as just another ordinary day. Margot was clearing the breakfast table while Peter buttoned his shirt and Wilhelm scampered around in his pajamas. Peter saw his wife wince and froze.

"Are you all right, _liebling?"_

"I'm fine." In truth, Margot had had a slight backache that had been coming and going at irregular intervals since early that morning.

"Are you sure?" Peter took several steps toward his wife.

"I just have a slight backache, but I'm sure it'll be fine. After all, the baby isn't due for another two and a half weeks."

He frowned.

"Go on to work, darling. It's not that bad. I'm sure it'll pass soon."

He gave her a hug and a kiss. Wilhelm looked up at him and waved. "Good-bye, _Vati."_

"Good-bye, _Spatzle."_ Peter picked him up and kissed his cheek. "Take good care of your _Mutti,_ all right?"

"I will!"

Margot watched as her husband opened the door and left. A brief feeling of foreboding swept over her, but she tried her best to ignore it. She finished clearing away the table and dressed Wilhelm. She decided to bake an apple pie to surprise Peter upon his return from work that evening, but a quick glance in her cupboard told her she didn't have enough sugar.

"Looks like we'll have to go to the grocery store," she told Wilhelm, who grinned.

During the short walk to the grocery store, her backache returned, a little more painful than before. I'll just take a nap when I get back home, before I start on the pie, she told herself.

As soon as she entered the store, she spied a large barrel of shiny red apples near the entrance. "Apples, _Mutti!"_ Wilhelm exclaimed, tugging on her skirt and pointing.

Margot smiled. "We have apples at home, sweetheart." She soon found the sugar and took it to the cashier, who smiled at her. "Not much longer until your new little one is here."

"I can't wait." Margot rubbed her back. "My husband has his heart set on a little girl, since we already have a son."

"You'll love it, whichever it is," the cashier replied.

Margot paid for the sugar, then looked around for her son. "Wilhelm? Ah, there you are!"

Wilhelm sat at the foot of the barrel, holding a half-eaten apple. His cheeks were puffed out like a chipmunk's.

"You naughty boy!" Margot scolded, smacking his hand. "I _told_ you we had apples at home! I'll pay for it," she told the cashier.

The cashier laughed. "Oh, don't worry about it. Good-bye, little boy!" She waved at Wilhelm.

"Good-bye!" He waved back.

When Margot got home, she sat the sugar on the counter, got Wilhelm settled for a nap, and laid down herself.

* * *

Peter had a niggling feeling all morning. Despite Margot's reassurances that she was fine, he couldn't shake his unease. As soon as his lunch break arrived, he dashed to his car and flew back home, where he found his wife lying in bed, groaning in pain. "I'm going to call the doctor right away!" he exclaimed, but Margot grabbed his hand.

"Please don't leave me!" Her eyes were wide with panic, her face was flushed, and her forehead was beaded with sweat. "The baby - it's coming right now!"

She grimaced and bore down. His hands were shaking so badly that he could hardly remove her panties, and he gasped when he saw that the baby's head was already visible. Fighting panic, he was struggling to decide what to do when it came to him that the most important thing was to keep Margot calm.

"It's all right, _liebling,"_ he told her. "I'm here, and everything's going to be just fine."

Margot bit her lip to stifle a scream as she bore down again, and this time, the baby's entire head emerged. "You're doing great," Peter told his wife. "You're almost there."

Margot began to sob. "I don't know if I can do it..."

"Of course you can!"

A moment later, she groaned and bore down again, and the newborn's entire body slid into Peter's hands. He placed the child on Margot's abdomen and went in search of a knife.

"My baby!" Margot's hands reached to stroke her child's slippery body. Peter returned and cut the cord, and the newborn wailed. He returned the child to her while he went to fetch a clean basin of water and soap. He brought them and began to clean the baby, who by now had stopped crying and was sucking on a balled fist.

"You're simply the most beautiful little girl in the world!" he cooed to her.

"A girl?" asked Margot.

Peter laughed. "See for yourself!" He showed her, then began to pin a diaper on his new daughter.

 _"Vati?"_ Peter turned to see Wilhelm standing in the doorway, his eyes round as saucers.

"Come see your new sister!"

Wilhelm slid a finger into his mouth as he approached the infant, who turned her blue eyes toward him. "Hello, baby." He looked from his sister to his mother. "Are you all right, _Mutti?"_

"I'm fine, sweetheart. Just a little tired, that's all."

"Your _Mutti's_ a very brave woman," Peter told his son.

"So is your _Vati,"_ Margot added. Peter took her into his arms and kissed the top of her head.

"We need to call your parents," Margot mumbled from inside his arms. "Mine too."

"I'll take care of all that," he told her. "You just stay right here and rest. You're certainly entitled." He knew he'd have to call the brewery as well, but right now, that was the farthest thing from his mind.


	30. Traumatic Revelation

In the small but cozy home of Martin and Sasha, Marina grew to be a happy, well-adjusted young girl. She continued to excel in ballet, and Clayton and Anna, who'd been born several months after her ninth birthday, idolized her. As she entered her preteen years, she developed a fondness for the American popular music albums sent to her by her Uncle Ted, who now lived in the United States with her Aunt Uschi and cousins, and often the strains of Doris Day, Pat Boone, and Guy Mitchell could be heard coming from her room.

The morning of her thirteenth birthday dawned sunny and warm. Sasha smiled as her daughter, perky in her light blue poodle skirt with white blouse and bobby socks and black-and-white saddle shoes skipped into the room, red braids flying.

"All ready for your party, I see."

"Of course, _Mutti."_ Marina smiled and twirled, making her skirt fly out. "My guests should be arriving soon, and I have to look nice for them, don't I?"

"You're beautiful, sweetheart. You grow lovelier and lovelier every year," Martin remarked.

"Thank you, _Vati."_ She kissed his cheek and then waltzed out of the room.

"You remember we agreed to tell her the truth on this day," Martin said to his wife. He'd really wanted to tell her much sooner, but Sasha had objected. Remembering the profound sense of loss she'd felt after the death of her own father, she'd longed to keep her own daughter in blissful ignorance for as long as possible. It was only upon Martin's insistence that she'd agreed to a compromise.

"She looks so happy." Her daughter's youthful exuberance, her innocence, brought tears to Sasha's eyes. "Can't we at least wait until after her party? I wouldn't want to ruin that for her."

Zoya and Paul were among the first to arrive. "Is this really my little Marina?" Zoya gasped at the sight of her granddaughter. "The last time I saw you, you were only about this tall. Just look at how tall you are now!"

Marina laughed. "You should visit more often, Grandmama. Watch this!" She performed several of the _pas de chat_ from 'Dance of the Cygnets.'

"Excellent!" Zoya cried as all the guests applauded. "I only hope you won't forget your old Grandmama when you become famous."

"I could never forget you, Grandmama. Not ever." Marina embraced her.

The party was a huge success, and Marina received many nice presents. After the last guest had departed, she stood back to admire them. "I'm such a lucky girl, _Mutti!"_ she exclaimed. "I have so many people who love me!"

Martin gave his wife a look that said, Now. Sasha cleared her throat and began. "Marina, we have something important to tell you."

"What is it, _Mutti?"_

"You weren't born in the hospital in Darmstadt, like Clayton and Anna."

"I wasn't?" Marina's jaw went slack.

"You were born in Palm Beach in Florida."

"But...but that's in America!"

Sasha nodded. "I haven't always been in this wheelchair, Marina. When I was young, I was wild and reckless, caring about nothing but owning expensive things and having fun. I fell in love with a young man named Freddy who was just like me, and the two of us went carousing together, just as foolish and irresponsible as could be."

"One night, Freddy had been drinking too much at a party and was driving us home when there was a horrible crash. Freddy was killed, and I was left paralyzed from the waist down for the rest of my life."

Marina, who by now had guessed in what direction the conversation was turning, began to shake her head slowly from side to side.

"For a long time, I wanted to die too. I couldn't see how I could ever be happy again, but after I came to France to live with your grandmother and later visited Germany, my perspective began to change, and I came to realize that I _did_ have something to live for, after all: my beautiful, precious baby girl. She was completely helpless, totally dependent on me, and for her sake, I had to try to put my life back together."

"You were just seven months old when you met your father for the first time. He fell in love with you as soon as he saw you, and you're every bit as precious to him now as you were then. Nobody could ever love you more than we do, Marina."

"No, no, no!" The devastated girl burst into tears and fled to her bedroom, where she threw herself across the bed and cried until no more tears would come.

Sasha began to steer her wheelchair in the direction of her daughter's bedroom, and Martin gripped the handles and pushed her along, knowing that this time she wouldn't mind. Reaching the closed door, she knocked on it. "Marina? Please let us in!"

"Go away!" came the muffled cry from inside the room.

"I think we should just leave her alone for now," Martin suggested. "She just needs some time to get used to it, but she's a strong girl. She'll be fine."

Reluctantly, Sasha turned away from the door.

Marina stayed in her bedroom for the rest of the day, not even emerging for dinner. Sasha saved her a plate but otherwise didn't interfere.

The young girl finally came out of her room the following morning, wearing a ferocious scowl. "Good morning, sweetheart," said Sasha, But Marina didn't respond. She piled her plate with sausages and pastries and took it to the table.

"Why is Marina angry, _Mutti?"_ asked little Anna. Marina glared at her.

"She just found out something that made her very unhappy," Sasha explained. "We're all going to have to be extra nice to her."

Anna went to Marina and tried to hug her, but the older girl pushed her away. "Leave me alone!"

"Marina." Martin's voice was kind but firm. "I understand that you're upset, but I cannot allow you to mistreat your sister."

"She's not my sister!" Marina exploded. "You're not my father, so she's not my sister! I'm not even German! I thought I was my whole life, but I'm not! I'm American, like my father and grandfather!"

She was sullen and cross with the rest of the family for weeks afterwards, barely speaking a word to them and rejecting all offers of affection. It broke Sasha's heart to see the transformation in her older daughter. "Now I know what I put my own mother through," she said to Martin one night. "I'm getting a taste of my own medicine, and I suppose I richly deserve it."

"I knew she'd be upset, but I certainly didn't expect it to go on like this," Martin replied. "I wonder whether a talk with the minister would help."

One day in October, however, the old Marina seemed to be back. She was all smiles, and there was a bounce in her step as she entered the house.


	31. In Pursuit Of Elvis

"Elvis is here!" she burst out. "Well, not really _here,_ but in Bad Nauheim, and that's not terribly far from here, is it?"

Sasha wheeled out of the kitchen and into the living room. "Well, no, it isn't, but - "

"He got drafted into the American army just like Uncle Ted did, except he's at Warttum-Kaserne instead of Cambrai-Fritsch, and he's going to be there for a whole year and a half!" She twirled around several times as she danced across the room. "Oh, how I wish I could have been at Bremen this morning when he walked off the ship!"

Martin chuckled. "It's likely you would have been trampled to death."

"What would you have cared?"

He pretended to be busy arranging books on the shelf so she couldn't see how deeply her words had hurt him.

Sasha winced but bit her lip. "With his military duties, I doubt he'll have much time for giving concerts."

"Oh, but if I could just _meet_ him! Can't we drive over to Bad Nauheim this weekend? You said yourself it isn't very far, so can't we go? Please, please, _please?"_

"I don't think that would be a good idea. First of all, I'm not terribly sure exactly how to get there, and second of all, I'm sure he's heavily guarded by security. How could you even hope to get anywhere near him?"

"But if I could just _see_ him from afar, that would be enough!"

"You'll get plenty of chances to see him on television. That should be sufficient."

Regretting her previous outburst, Marina glanced at Martin to see that he'd been listening to the conversation with a slight smile on his face. As soon as he saw her noticing, the smile vanished. "Your mother's right, Marina."

"If it were something Clayton or Anna wanted, it would be a whole different story," she grumbled, but her complaint fell on deaf ears.

By Saturday, she'd come up with a plan. "I'm going out on my bicycle for awhile," she told Sasha after lunch.

"All right, but be careful, and remember to be back by dinnertime," Sasha, who was cleaning up a spill, replied.

As soon as she was sitting on her bicycle, she retrieved the tightly folded map of Hesse she'd painstakingly copied from her geography textbook at school. She looked at it carefully, then took off. The chilly breeze nipped her cheeks as she pedaled along, making her glad she'd remembered to wear a sweater. She smiled as she reached the sign that said 'Weiterstadt' about half an hour later. So far, so good, she told herself. She didn't feel tired at all.

After about another hour of pedaling, her legs began to ache but, determined not to let that slow her down, she carried on. By the time she reached Eschborn, she was quite out of breath and so tired she could hardly move. The sun was still high in the sky, and she thought she could afford to rest for a few minutes. Parking her bicycle beside a bench, she lay on it and fell asleep almost right away.

When she awakened, she saw that the sun was now lower in the sky. Panicking, she grabbed her bicycle and began to pedal at a frantic pace. By the time she reached Rosbach vor der Hohe, it was almost dark and her stomach was rumbling. Just a little bit more to go, she told herself. Maybe I can even have dinner with Elvis.

That idea sent a thrill to her heart, and she was still savoring it when her bicycle chain broke.

* * *

"I haven't seen Marina since lunchtime," Sasha remarked as she watched Martin set the table. "She promised to be back by dinnertime." Images of her daughter lying unconscious and bleeding beside her twisted bicycle filled her mind, making her insides quake.

"Likely she just met up with some friends and forgot all about the time," her husband replied. "I'm sure she'll be back soon."

"We can't wait any longer to serve dinner. Clayton and Anna are starving."

"So am I." Martin laughed. "Let's just go ahead and start eating, and when she returns, she can join us. I'm sure there will be plenty left."

* * *

The first stars of the evening were twinkling in the black velvet sky when a car pulled up and stopped beside where Marina was standing, regarding her disabled bicycle with disdain. The sixtyish woman sitting in the passenger seat rolled down her window and called to her. "Do you need some help, little girl?"

"Oh, yes!" Marina was sobbing real tears by now. "My bicycle is broken, and I have to get to Bad Nauheim to see my grandmother. She only has a few more days to live, and if I don't go see her right now, it will be too late!"

"Of course!" the woman's husband said. "We'll take you. I'm sorry, but I don't think there's room in the car for your bicycle."

"That's all right." The bicycle was forgotten as Marina opened the back door and got into the car.

"What's your name, dear?" asked the woman as the car began to move.

"Marina...Gaebel." It occurred to her that she didn't even know her biological father's surname.

"How old are you, Marina?" asked the man.

"Sixteen," she lied.

"And your grandmother's in the hospital in Bad Nauheim, you said?"

"Yes. She has a very fast-acting type of cancer."

"And why can't your parents take you to see her?"

Marina had to think about that for a minute. "Every time I ask, they always say they're too busy. I guess they just don't realize how serious it is."

"What a shame. Well, we'll get you there as fast as we can."

* * *

Night had fallen, and there was still no sign of Marina. Sasha was beside herself with worry. "Something dreadful has happened to her. I know it has!"

Martin was torn between wondering whether Marina was pulling a prank or was seriously in trouble, but he couldn't bear to see his wife's distress and knew there was only one thing he could do. "I'll bet she took off for Bad Nauheim. She's probably somewhere along the way on her bicycle. I'll find her."

"Please be careful! That fog is terrible!"

"Of course I will be."

As he set out, the fog was indeed so heavy that he had to drive much more slowly than usual, and even so, he felt his wheels leave the road's surface several times. He had no idea that a car coming from the opposite direction had crossed into his lane and was headed straight for him.


	32. Peter To The Rescue

Martin felt the jolt of the other car hitting his, and seconds later, he came to to find himself lying on the ceiling of his car, staring up at the floorboard. He was dizzy, and his head was throbbing, but he was overwhelmed with the conviction that he had to get out of the car as quickly as possible. He maneuvered his body so he could reach the door handle and then, with all his might, pushed it open. By pressing his feet against the seat, he managed to push himself out of the car, where he landed clumsily in a thicket of brush.

He groaned as he struggled to his feet, wincing in pain from the abrasion on his hand. He took several awkward steps in the direction from whence he'd come and then, slowly gaining his bearings, shuffled along as quickly as his feet could carry him. He heard the explosion and felt the heat on his back as the car burst into flames.

A few steps later, he sank to his knees, his adrenaline-propelled momentum having vanished. A few minutes later, the paramedics found him and loaded him onto a stretcher.

* * *

The call from the Rosbach vor der Hohe police department came first. "We have your daughter Marina here at the station," the policeman told Sasha. "She was found standing by the side of the road not quite an hour ago. She told the people who picked her up some tale about a grandmother dying of cancer in the hospital in Bad Nauheim. They saw through her story and brought her to us. When will you be able to come get her?"

"I don't know. My husband left to look for her several hours ago, and I haven't heard a word from him. I can't drive myself. Can I please speak to her?"

A moment later, she heard her daughter's voice, " _Mutti_ , can you please send someone to get me? I was on my way to see Elvis and my bicycle chain broke! Somebody picked me up and brought me here, and I don't know anybody and I'm _scared!"_ By now she was sobbing, hard.

Sasha was too relieved to be angry. "There's no one to send, Marina. Your father - Martin - left several hours ago in the dark and fog to look for you. I have no idea where he is now. You'll simply have to wait until I can call someone in the morning." She refused to allow herself to contemplate the possibility that she may have lost a second husband the same way she'd lost her first.

She'd fallen into a fitful sleep while still sitting in her wheelchair when she received the second telephone call. "This is the Klinikum Frankfurt Hochst hospital," said a feminine voice. "Your husband is here in our emergency room. He's suffered a mild concussion and numerous cuts and scrapes, but other than that, he's fine. We're keeping him for observation for a couple of days, but after that, he's free to go."

"Thank God!" Relief surged through Sasha, and she soon fell back to sleep. About six hours later, she was awakened by Clayton tugging on her arm. _"Mutti!_ Why did you fall asleep in your wheelchair? Where's _Vati?"_

Memories of the previous day and night swept over Sasha. "Your father was in a car accident last night and is in the hospital, but he's going to be all right."

"Oh, no!" Clayton's eyes grew round. "When can we go see him?"

"Why, as soon as we can get someone to take us, but we have to pick Marina up from the police department in Rosbach vor der Hohe first. She took off on her bicycle yesterday afternoon and got stranded."

Clayton frowned. "Why did she go so far away?"

Sasha sighed. "She wanted to meet Elvis Presley, the American singer who's stationed in Bad Nauheim."

"But why would she care so much about meeting him?"

"Girls her age can be silly sometimes, Clayton. We'll have to see if one of your uncles can go pick her up."

She called Peter first, since she knew him better than she knew Fritz or Hans. As it turned out, he was outside, working on the car, and Margot was in the kitchen baking a cake while Wilhelm and Miriam watched cartoons on the television. She answered the telephone on the second ring.

"Sasha!" she exclaimed when she heard her sister-in-law's voice. "How are you?"

"I'm in quite a desperate situation," Sasha replied. "Marina's at the police department in Rosbach vor der Hohe, and Martin's in the the Klinikum Frankfurt hospital with a concussion and some bruises and scrapes. It's too complicated to explain right now, but could you please ask Peter to go get Marina?"

"Yes, of course!" Margot stammered. She hung up the telephone and dashed outside, where she found her husband bent over the car's motor. A moment later, he slammed the hood down and smiled at her.

"Good as new. Want to go for a ride?"

"As it turns out, we'll _have_ to. Apparently Marina ran away from home, and Martin's in the hospital. Sasha just called and asked if we could pick her up from the police department in Rosbach vor der Hohe."

"What happened to Martin?"

"She said he had a concussion and some bruises and scrapes. She said it was too complicated to explain."

"All right. Let's get the children and go."

* * *

"Uncle Peter! Aunt Margot!" Marina ran to them as they entered the police station _._ "Where are my _Mutti_ and _Vati?"_

"Your _Vati_ is in the hospital," Peter told her. "Your _Mutti_ asked us to pick you up. Care to tell us how you ended up in Rosbach vor der Hohe?"

"I wanted to meet Elvis." Marina couldn't think of a convincing lie. "I asked _Mutti_ and _Vati_ to take me to Bad Nauheim, but they wouldn't."

Peter looked furious for just a minute, then burst out laughing. "Well, I hope you learned your lesson. Come along. We're taking you home."

Wilhelm and Miriam peppered their cousin with questions all the way back home. "Did you really ride your bicycle all this way?" Wilhelm was clearly impressed by his cousin's feat.

"No. The chain broke." Overcome by exhaustion, Marina curled up in the back seat and tried to sleep.

"Where is it now?" asked Miriam.

"I don't know and I don't care. I just want to go home."

Sasha, Clayton, and Anna were waiting when Peter's car arrived at their house. Marina had fallen asleep, and Margot had to shake her awake. When they saw her getting out of the car, Clayton and Anna ran to hug her, and she hugged them back.


	33. Pauline

The first thing Martin did was to lift his wife out of her wheelchair and hold her like he never wanted to let her go. She clung to him, burying her face in the warmth of his neck. "I was so afraid I'd lost you forever!" she murmured.

"I know, sweetheart." He kissed the top of her hair. "It was God Who saved me and brought me back to you. He warned me that I had to get out of the car as quickly as possible. No sooner had I taken a few steps than I heard it explode. All the way to the hospital, I thanked Him for sparing me."

Sasha pulled away slightly so she could look into his eyes. "So the car's gone?"

"Yes, but that's all right. My father will loan us the money to buy another. I'm just thankful to have survived."

"That's all that really matters," Sasha agreed. Clayton and Anna came to embrace their father, while Marina sat on the sofa with big tears in her eyes. Martin smiled and reached for her, and she stood and walked to him as if her feet were made of lead.

"I thought you hated me now," she mumbled.

"Of course not," Martin replied. "You've behaved foolishly and irresponsibly, and for that you'll be disciplined, but no matter what you do, we'll never stop loving you."

Marina took a step back. "What will my punishment be?"

"That's for your mother and I to decide, but not right now."

Marina trudged back to her seat, her stomach already in knots.

Hours later, when Clayton and Anna had been tucked into bed, Martin summoned Marina to the living room, and she knew that there was no use in protesting. When she got there, she saw the stern look on her mother's face and quaked inside.

"You do realize that your father was almost killed on the Autobahn while searching for you." Sasha's voice held thinly disguised anger. "The car was crashed and destroyed, and nobody knows where your bicycle is. All this because of a foolish whim of yours. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Ever since I found out the truth about my father, I've just felt so all alone, like you didn't need me anymore, since you have Martin and Clayton and Anna now. I thought if I could meet Elvis, maybe even get his autograph, that would be something special, something nobody else in the family has done, and then it wouldn't matter so much that I'm the one who's left out."

"You've never been left out," said Martin. "You know you've always been loved just as much as your brother and sister."

"However, you _have_ done wrong, and for that, you must be disciplined," Sasha told her older daughter. "For the next month, you're to come straight home after school every day. There are to be no visits with friends, no parties, no outings, no telephone calls, and no television or records. When you get home every day, you're to do your homework, eat dinner, and go to bed. If you have any spare time, you may read the Bible or the classics. On Saturdays, you're to do chores to make up for the cost of the bicycle you wasted. In a month's time, we'll re-evaluate your behavior, and if it's been satisfactory, your privileges will be restored to you."

Although she knew it was futile, Marina glanced at Martin's face for any sign of leniency and found none. Dejected, she made her way back to her room.

* * *

"I do hope they like me!" Pauline frowned as she smoothed her dark brown curls back.

"Of course they will! How could they not?" Nikita smiled as his arm slid around her waist. The young man was taking his fiancee to meet his parents for the first time, and Pauline was, understandably, quite nervous.

Nikita rang the doorbell, and Dimitri opened the door. He was wearing beige slacks with a white dress shirt and black dress shoes, and his hair was neatly styled and combed back. Pauline thought he was very handsome.

"Hello, Papa," Nikita greeted his father. "This is my fiancee, Pauline Rousseau."

"It's lovely to meet you." Dimitri smiled and stepped aside. "Come on in! Dinner's almost ready. Anastasia's making one of her specialties, Culiabac with vesiga."

Nikita and Pauline stepped into the living room, and the young woman looked around at its furnishings. At the far end of the room was a window with the drapes closed. In one corner, a tall lamp stood beside a small book case. In front of it was an easy chair, and beside that, the sofa. Across from the sofa was the fireplace, which was covered with a grill, and above that was a small shelf full of knickknacks. In the corner opposite the lamp was the television set.

Soon Anastasia appeared, wiping her hands on her apron. Dimitri went to her and flicked the tiny bit of dough on her cheek off with his finger.

"Mama, I'd like you to meet my fiancee, Pauline Rousseau," said Nikita.

"Nice to meet you." Anastasia smiled and shook the young woman's hand. "Go ahead and have a seat. I just need to take the - oh, no!"

She dashed back into the kitchen, returning moments later with a smoking pot. "Whew, just in time!" Dimitri remarked.

Anastasia set the food on the table and served it, and the group began to eat. "So, tell us about yourself, Pauline," said Anastasia.

"I'm twenty years old," Pauline told them. "I work as a sales girl in the Paris branch of Countess Zoya. I have five brothers and three sisters. I love to go to the movies and roller skating."

"That was actually how we met," Nikita put in. "She'd slipped and fallen, and I skated over to see if she was all right."

"How well I remember roller skating with my sisters on the _Standart!"_ Anastasia's eyes held a faraway look. "It was always such fun! Alexei couldn't join us, of course. With his hemophilia, it would have been too dangerous. We all felt bad for him, but there was nothing we could do about it."

Pauline gasped. "Are you saying you're - "

Anastasia frowned. "Didn't Nikita tell you who we are?"

Pauline shook her head. "All he told us was you're related to the owner of Countess Zoya. Silly me, I should have put two and two together." She turned to Nikita. "Why didn't you tell me?"


	34. Never A Dull Moment

Nikita looked flustered. "I meant to, but the right time just never came."

"We've been dating for six months," Pauline pointed out.

Nikita stared down at his plate of food. "I was afraid you'd love me only because my grandfather was a Tsar, and not for myself," he admitted.

Pauline snorted. "If I didn't love you for yourself, would I have put up with your antics for this long?"

"I guess not." He grinned. "Remember the time I gave you flowers, and a little frog jumped right out of them and landed on your nose?"

"You expected me to scream in horror." Pauline giggled. "You had no idea how much I love frogs!"

"She kept it in a tank for a few days," Nikita told his parents. "Then she got tired of having to catch live insects to feed it and set it free."

"You're definitely your mother's son," Dimitri put in.

"As if you were a perfect saint," Anastasia retorted.

Nikita gave Pauline an uneasy glance. Former royalty or not, what kind of impression were his parents making on his soon-to-be bride?

"Of course I'm not," Dimitri replied. "That's why you love me so much."

Anastasia placed a wet, sloppy kiss on her husband's cheek, and her son relaxed. Everyone enjoyed the rest of the meal, and afterwards, Nikita walked Pauline home. "Your parents are like nobody I've ever met before," she remarked.

"How so?"

"Growing up with them must have been like living in the middle of a three-ring circus," she replied.

"There was never a dull moment," he agreed.

* * *

"It was awful, Grandmama," Marina told Zoya over the telephone. "No phone calls, no visits, no _anything_ for a whole month! And I had to spend every Saturday afternoon cleaning house - and I mean not just cleaning it, but _scrubbing_ it until not a speck of dust could be found anywhere - and _he_ made me memorize so many Bible verses it made my head spin! Mostly about children honoring their parents - he's _not_ my parent, but he still keeps acting like he is! He keeps telling me how blood doesn't matter, but I know he loves Clayton and Anna more than me - he _has_ to!"

"Would you like to meet your biological father's parents, Marina?' asked Zoya.

"You mean they're still alive? Could I, really?"

"They're still alive. Their names are Arthur and Eunice Barrington, and they still live in Palm Beach. I've been in touch with them, and they told me they'd love for you to visit them over Christmas vacation."

"Wow, I'd love to meet them! When can I leave?"

"I'll arrange for you to fly out of Frankfurt right after school ends for the break. They'll send someone to meet you at the airport in Florida, and he'll take you to their home."

"Oh, boy, I can't wait!" Marina enthused.

"I get to go to Florida for Christmas!" she bragged to Clayton and Anna later.

Clayton frowned. "What's Florida?"

"It's in the United States, where my _real_ grandparents live. I get to stay with them for two whole weeks!"

"Can I come too, _schwester?"_ asked Anna.

"I'm not your _schwester,_ and no, you can't."

Anna primped up to cry as Marina walked away, and Clayton tried his best to comfort her while glaring at the older girl's retreating back.

On the Saturday morning after the last day of school before the holidays, Martin drove Marina to the airport in Frankfurt. Neither of them said much on the way. Marina was reflecting that this would be the first time she'd ridden an airplane since she'd been old enough to remember, and her excitement was mixed with apprehension. How would she cope with two weeks of being surrounded by only people who were strangers to her? Would she get homesick? What would she do if she did?

"Well, here we are," Martin announced as he pulled into the airport parking lot and parked. Looking up at the large building, Marina had to swallow a lump in her throat.

"You aren't having second thoughts already, are you?" Martin teased.

Marina shook her head and walked together with him into the building. He stayed with her until it was time for her to board the airplane, then gave her a big hug. "I hope you have a wonderful time, Marina. I pray God's hand of protection over you. I love you, and I'll see you again next year."

Next year. That's right, Marina reflected. It will be 1959 when I get back.

She dozed off and on during the ten-hour flight, barely tasting the airline food and spending most of the hour-and-a-half-long stopover in Atlanta scrunched up in a padded seat, asleep. Arriving at the airport in Palm Beach at last, she searched for the sign with her name on it.

The man she saw holding the sign had the darkest skin she'd ever seen, and she knew he had to be a descendant of the slaves who'd worked the cotton fields of the Southern states prior to the Civil War. "I'm Marina," she told him.

"Mista Arthur's granddaughter." He nodded and smiled. His teeth looked very white against his skin. "I'm Titus. I been workin' for Mista Arthur since Mista Freddy was ye high, God rest his soul."

Mr. Freddy. My father. Marina gulped as she followed Titus to a brand new white Cadillac.

"Wow!" she breathed, almost afraid to even touch such an expensive vehicle.

During the brief drive to her grandparents' home, she gazed in wonder at the stately mansions with their immaculately manicured lawns, the Cadillacs and Rolls Royces they passed on the street. In what seemed no time at all, Titus was pulling into the circular driveway of what looked to be the grandest of them all. I think I'm gonna love it here, she told herself.

At the front door, they were met by a middle-aged woman with hair and skin like Titus's. "Well, here she is, Flossie," said Titus. "Miz Marina herself, all the way from Germany!"

"Come on in, darlin'," Flossie told Marina. "Lawd, you must be burnin' up in all them clothes. Let's go find you somethin' cooler to put on, and then I'll take you to meet Mista Arthur and Miz Eunice."

Marina, who indeed was uncomfortably warm, followed Flossie through the kitchen and into the hallway.


	35. Culture Shock

"Ever'body, this here's Marina." Flossie put a gentle hand behind her shoulder, forcing her slightly forward. "Go on an' meet yo' grandparents, chile."

Arthur Barrington was the most distinguished-looking gentleman Marina had ever seen. He wore tan slacks with a red-striped shirt and matching necktie, and his silver hair was perfectly coiffed. His wife looked very prim and proper in her blue dress, with a string of white pearls around her neck. Her hair had been permed and styled and professionally set as well.

"Come here, darlin'." Eunice held out her arms, and Marina went into them. Her grandmother smelled of lilacs and talcum powder.

"Let me take a look at you." Eunice looked into Marina's face. "Why, she's the spittin' image of our Freddy, isn't she, Arty? Except for her red hair, of course."

"My Grandmama Zoya has red hair, too." Looking into the bright blue eyes, Marina couldn't help but compare Eunice with Brigitte Gaebel, the woman she'd grown up thinking was her grandmother. The two women were about the same age, and they both had bright blue eyes, but that was where the similarities seemed to end.

"Let me show you to your room," Eunice told her. "It was your father's room before he got married."

Wow! Marina thought as she followed the plump, middle-aged woman across the plush carpet and up the winding staircase to a hallway with several doors. Eunice opened the middle door and led Marina into the room. It was slightly larger than the one she shared with Anna in Bessungen. It boasted a double bed with a light blue quilt, and the wall was also painted light blue and decorated in a sea motif.

"This was really my father's bedroom?" Marina gazed around the room, her eyes drinking in its every detail.

"Yes. He always wanted to be a sailor when he was little. That was before - " She cleared her throat. "He was the one who named you, you know."

"Really?"

"Here's a picture of him when he was six or seven." Eunice lifted a framed photograph from the dresser and handed it to Marina. It was of a little boy with light hair and eyes, smiling widely so the gap where his two front were missing showed. He was wearing a dark sailor suit with a square white collar. Marina had to swallow a lump in her throat as she handed the photograph back to her grandmother.

"I remember how he used to love to go to the seashore. It was his very favorite thing in the world to do." Eunice's eyes held a faraway look. "He'd stand for ages, just gazing out over the water. Said he couldn't stop wondering what was beyond the waves,and he intended to find out some day." She heaved a heavy sigh as she returned the photograph to its spot on the dresser. "But he never did."

That night, Marina dreamed of crashing waves and soaring seagulls, of a tall man with sandy blond hair, light blue eyes, and an easy smile. He was holding her, telling her he loved her and would never leave her.

When she woke up, her pillow was soaked with tears.

On Sunday, the Barringtons had company for dinner. "Marina, this is your Uncle Clarence, your Aunt Laura, and your cousin Barbara," Eunice told her granddaughter. Barbara had dark blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail and green eyes. She was wearing a pink poodle skirt with a white blouse, white bobby socks, and black and white saddle shoes.

"Barbara came in her own car," Aunt Laura announced. "She wants to go shopping after dinner. Why don't you take Marina along? I'm sure she'd enjoy it," she suggested to her daughter.

Barbara smiled. "Sure!"

Marina's eyes widened. "You have your own car?"

"Sure. I'm sixteen now." Barbara's eyes narrowed. "How old are you?"

"Almost fourteen." It wasn't exactly a lie, as August was, after all, less than a year away.

"I always knew I had a cousin on Dad's side who was a little bit younger than me. Nice to finally meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too."

Dinner turned out to be pot roast, potatoes, carrots, and peas, and afterwards, Barbara and Marina walked out to Barbara's yellow Jaguar.

"Wow!" Marina breathed.

"It's a 1959 model." Barbara blew an enormous pink bubble and it popped with a wet, squishy sound, covering most of her nose and mouth. She peeled it off and stuck it back into her mouth. "My parents gave it to me for my birthday last summer. I have to be careful from now on, though," she continued as they climbed into their seats. "Dad said _I'll_ have to pay my _next_ speeding ticket."

"I can't believe there's actually a speed limit here. There isn't on the Autobahn."

Barbara giggled. "I think I'll go back home with you. You can smuggle me onto the airplane in a suitcase. How come you speak English so good?"

 _"Mutti's_ always spoken to me in English. She's American."

"That's your Mom, right? I thought she was Russian."

"Half Russian. My grandfather was American." Marina thought of Clayton Andrews, the grandfather she'd never known, as he'd died many years before her birth. She wondered what he'd been like. Had he looked like her mother, or her Uncle Nicholas, whom she'd only met a couple of times? What had his personality been like?

 _"I_ can't believe stores here are open on Sundays," she said as Barbara parked. "What if the people who work here want to go to church?"

"Too bad, I guess." They entered the store, and Marina followed Barbara to the junior women's clothing area, and when they'd finished there, Barbara wanted to look at the shoes, which were on the other side of the store.

As they passed the lunch counter, Marina stopped and stared at the sign that said 'whites only'. "What's that mean?" she asked her cousin.

"What's what mean?"

"That sign."

"It means colored folks can't sit there. Come on."

"Colored folks?"

"Yeah, you know. Negroes. Darkies."

"You mean like Titus and Flossie?"

Barbara rolled her eyes. "Of course, silly. Who did you think I meant?"

"But why can't they sit there?"

Barbara shrugged. "That's just the way it is. They have to drink from their own water fountains, too. Say, I haven't shown you my ring yet, have I?" She held out her hand. On one finger was a large ruby. "My folks gave it to me for my birthday when I turned fifteen. Oh, and when you're over at my house, remind me to show you my coat. It's a genuine sable. They gave it to me for Christmas last year." Her eyes gleamed. "I can't _wait_ to find out what they got me _this_ year!"


	36. The Grave

"This isn't winter," Marina remarked as the girls emerged into the sunshine once again. "It's summer!"

"It's winter, all right." Barbara unlocked the car door on her side. "Christmas is in less than two weeks!"

"I can't even _imagine_ Christmas without snow!" Marina exclaimed.

Barbara laughed. "It _never_ snows here! Hey, you want to go to McDonald's? Their ice cream sundaes are the best!"

"What's McDonald's?"

"It's a really cool place where you can get burgers, fries, milkshakes - just about anything you want!"

"You mean you're already hungry again?"

"Not really. I just want a strawberry sundae." Barbara pulled into a parking space, and the girls got out and went into the restaurant.

Standing in line, Marina surveyed the menu, then frowned. "They don't sell beer here?"

"Of _course_ not! It's _McDonald's!"_

"They sell it at Weinerwald back home," Marina told her. _"Vati_ \- my stepfather - won't let us kids drink it. He says it's not healthy at our age, but Uncle Peter lets our cousins have just a little bit sometimes, but never when _Tante_ Margot is around."

"I think I really _do_ want to go back home with you." Barbara leaned toward Marina and lowered her voice. "Mom would _kill_ me!" She collapsed in a paroxysm of giggles.

"What's so funny?" asked Marina.

"Never mind. What kind are you getting? I want strawberry."

"Um - caramel, maybe." Marina took the dollar bill her grandmother had given her out of her purse and looked at it.

"Oh, put that away. It's my treat." Barbara grinned.

"Really?" Marina gasped.

Barbara shrugged. "Sure. I get five dollars a week allowance, so it's no big deal."

The girls took the sundaes to a booth and sat down. "Barbara?" Marina asked her cousin as she was digging into her ice cream with her spoon.

"Hm?"

"Do you know where my father's buried?"

"'Course I do. It's close to where our great grandparents are buried. We go there every Easter to leave flowers. I'll take you there today, if you want."

"Oh, yes!"

The girls finished their ice cream, and Barbara drove to the cemetery, where Marina followed her down a rocky path that wound through the well-manicured lawn with the stones and markers arranged in perfect symmetry. At last Barbara stopped and nodded toward one of the markers. "That's it."

Marina knelt before it and read its inscription. 'Alfred George Barrington, March 19, 1924 - December 24, 1945. Beloved son, husband, and father.'

 _"Vater?"_ A tear escaped Marina's left eye and trickled down her cheek as she brushed a few blades of grass from the marker's surface. Another soon followed.

"I wouldn't cry over him if I were you," said Barbara. "Dad's always said he was a drunk and a lecher."

"Don't _call_ him that!" Marina sprang to her feet and attacked her cousin. "He was my _father!"_

"Hey" Barbara grabbed her arms. "I was nice enough to drive you all the way here, and you act like _this?_ See if I ever do anything else for you!"

"I'm s-sorry," Marina sniffled as she followed Barbara back to the car. As soon as she was back at her grandparents' home, she flew up the stairs and into her room, where she threw herself across the bed and burst into tears. A few minutes later, she felt the bed sink as someone sat beside her and began to rub her back.

"Want to talk about it, honey?" asked Eunice.

Marina raised her tear-stained face to look into her grandmother's eyes. "Was my father really a drunk and a lecher?"

Eunice heaved a deep sigh as she stood and walked to the dresser, where she picked up a photograph and gazed at it for a moment, then set it back down. "I don't know where I went wrong with that child," she said at last. "We gave him everything, all that money could buy. He never lacked anything at all. We showed him just as much love and affection as we did Clarence, and Clarence turned out just fine, but for Freddy, it was just somehow never enough. We took him to counselors, therapists - even sent him to that strict boarding school - but nothing worked. He was incorrigible."

"When he told us he was getting married, I thought he was too young, but I also hoped that becoming a husband and father would turn him into a responsible individual. I couldn't have been more wrong about that."

"So what Barbara said about him was true, then?"

Eunice didn't respond.

* * *

She dozed during the long flight over the Atlantic, and instead of crashing waves and soaring seagulls, there were rolling green pastures and church bells, and the man holding her had Martin's face. Tears of remorse filled her eyes as she thought of how cold she'd been to him since she'd learned the truth. She'd grieved for something that had never really been, and she'd had to go all the way to America to learn that. Yet in the loss of her dream, she'd gained something as well - the knowledge that she'd never truly been alone after all, that the love she'd felt she'd lost had really been there all along.

He was there waiting for her when she got off the airplane in Frankfurt, Clayton and Anna standing with him, melting snow still clinging to all their coats.

She felt as if her feet had wings as she ran to him and gave him a fierce hug, burying her face in the front of his shirt. _"Vati!_ I missed you so much!"

He lifted her chin with his fingers and looked into her face. "Marina? What's wrong? Didn't you have a good time?"

"It's kind of a long story. I'll tell you later, when there's time."

"What happened? Are you all right?" His voice was tight with concern.

"I'm all right. I want you to be my _Vati_ from now on, and never leave me. You won't, will you?"

"Of course not, _liebchen."_ He pulled her close, and she inhaled the familiar scent of his cologne. "Were the Barringtons unkind to you?"

"Oh no, not at all. They were very nice."

"But something must have happened to upset you."

"More like just something I found out, but it's all right. I'm over it now - mostly."

"Come along, then. Your mother's anxious to see you again."

As she walked back out to the car with her father and brother and sister, she knew that she was back where she belonged.


	37. The Movie

"The movie based on Anne's book is showing in Darmstadt now," Margot announced to her family as she served the evening meal. Anne's novel, 'The Diary of a Young Girl', had been published two years previously and had quickly become a best seller. It was the story of a young girl and her family hiding from the Nazis during the war. Margot remembered the day she'd first seen it on display in the general store. She'd bought it, taken it home, and read it all the way through in one evening.

A disgruntled Peter had ended up having to prepare and serve dinner that evening.

"I saw the announcement for it as I was leaving the market today," she continued.

"Well, we'll have to go see it then, won't we." Peter grinned as he speared a piece of roast pork with his fork. Even after thirteen years of marriage, Margot still felt a little guilty about cooking it and even more so about eating it. Only the fact that it was one of her husband's favorites, and that she herself had found it delicious when she'd finally tasted it, caused it to remain a staple in the family's diet.

"It's starts Friday," Margot added. "I'd love for us to see it together as a family, but we'll have to get there early. It's sure to sell out really quickly."

As it turned out, the Gaebels were the first family to arrive at the cinema, and they ended up having to sit in the darkened theater for forty-five minutes before the movie started. Wilhelm and Miriam grew restless and began to complain, but their father quickly reproved them.

At last the movie started, and time seemed to stand still for Margot as she watched, spellbound. Silent tears began to roll down her face as she watched the Nazi soldiers break into the family's hiding place to take them away. Knowing that she had to keep her composure for the sake of her children, she bit down on her lower lip until she tasted blood.

As the family filed out of the theater, Peter's hand gripping his wife's tightly, not a word was spoken. All was silent on the drive home as well. Silently the children prepared for bed as their parents settled on the sofa in the living room. About twenty minutes later, Margot heard Miriam calling to her and went into her daughter's room. She found Miriam lying in bed wide awake with a worried look on her face.

 _"Mutti,_ did all those things in the movie really happen?" she asked.

"Yes, _liebchen,_ they did."

A look of horror passed over the young girl's face. "But _Vati_ was a soldier during the war! Did he round people up and put them in concentration camps?"

Margot gently brushed the blonde hair back from her daughter's forehead. "No, _liebchen,_ your father had no part in any of that. It was he and your Uncle Nicky who saved me, your _Tante_ Anne, and your grandparents from being sent to a concentration camp. Your father is a very brave man, Miriam. If he'd been caught, he would have been executed for treason."

Miriam looked thoughtful. _"Vati's_ a real hero, then."

"Indeed he is. None of us would be here today if not for him." She turned to leave, but Miriam called to her again. _"Mutti?"_

"Yes?"

"Why were they putting people in concentration camps, anyway?"

Margot sighed. "There used to be an evil man named Adolf Hitler. He thought that all the bad things in the world were because of the Jews, and that if the Nazis got rid of all of them, the world would be a good place for everyone else to live in again."

"But that's crazy!"

"I know it is, _liebchen,_ but it's all over now. Adolf Hitler is gone, and nothing like that will ever happen again." She started to leave again, but Miriam called to her once more.

 _"Mutti?"_

"Yes?"

"What happened to Adolf Hitler?"

"He died, _liebchen._ He and all the other wicked men are gone now. The world is safe from them." She kissed Miriam's forehead. "Go to sleep now."

She returned to the living room to find Peter staring at the wall, deep in thought. He reached for her, and she went into his arms, where she nestled deep in his embrace.

"Is she all right?" he asked.

"I think so. Some things in the movie upset her. I tried to explain as well as I could."

His arms held her more tightly. "Are _you_ all right?"

"I suppose so, although it really isn't fair at all, is it?"

His finger lightly traced her cheek. "Of course it wasn't!"

"No - I mean, here I am in a cozy warm house, with plenty of good food and a family who loves me, while so many of my people are lying in mass graves, forsaken and forgotten."

 _"Meine liebe."_ His voice was husky with emotion as he kissed the top of her head. "You have no reason to feel guilty. You couldn't help what happened to them, and personally, I'm very glad you survived, since I don't know what I'd ever do without you."

* * *

"The movie's showing in America and all the other European countries, but not here." Nicholas slammed the newspaper down onto the table.

"Why not?" Anne helped three-year-old Nicole down from the table, and the little girl ran into the living room, her dark hair bouncing on her shoulders. After eight years of marriage, their only child had finally came along, and both Nicholas and Anne were very protective of her.

Nicholas consulted the newspaper once more. "Says it was banned because of all the former Nazi party members who are now alive and free and living in West Germany." He gritted his teeth. The subject made him so angry he wanted to explode every time he thought about it. "I'd like to hunt them all down and shoot them!"

"You'd only end up in prison yourself." Anne walked up behind her husband and began to massage his shoulders. "At least they lost the war. My people survived, and now they even have a country of their very own."

"I know." He smiled. "I'm really proud of you, you know."

"Thanks. I'm proud of you, too."


	38. The Audition

"How would you like to go back to America?" Zoya asked her granddaughter.

"You mean to stay with Grandpa Art and Grandma Eunice again?" asked Marina.

Zoya chuckled. "Oh, no. There's a special school in New York City for performers. It's called the Julliard School, and its auditions for the freshman class next year are about to be held. Your cousin Sara has been playing the flute for their orchestra for the past three years. She'll be going into her senior year, and Maria says she'd be thrilled to have you there with her."

Marina had met her distant cousin Sara a handful of times. Sara had grown up with her nine brothers and sisters in Paris, and the flute had come as naturally to her as dancing had come to Marina. On her one visit to the older girl's home, Marina and Sara's younger sister, Lydia, had sneaked into Sara's room and tried on her make-up. Sara had been angry, of course, but she'd gotten over it quickly.

"But what about _Mutti?"_

"I've already discussed it with her, and she thinks it's a wonderful idea. The competition is stiff, but she and I both know how talented you are, and we think you have an excellent chance of making it in."

"New York City's a long way from Palm Beach, isn't it?"

"Yes. They're both on the East Coast, but New York City is in the North and Palm Beach is in the South. America is a very large country, Marina, much larger than France and Germany. You know that. You've seen maps."

"You used to live there a long time ago, before I was born, didn't you?"

"Yes. Your grandfather brought me there to live after we got married, and that's where your Uncle Nicky, your Uncle Matthew, and your mother were born."

"If I get accepted to Julliard, will I be close to where Uncle Matthew and Michael are?"

"Yes. New York and Massachusetts are both in New England." Marina's Uncle Matthew, who was just six years older than she was, and Sara's first cousin Michael both attended Harvard in Massachusetts.

"That would be great!"

The appointed day arrived, and Zoya traveled to Germany on the train to fetch her granddaughter. Marina hugged and kissed Sasha before riding to the train station with Martin. "Goodbye, sweetheart," Sasha told her daughter. "Good luck. I know you'll do well."

"Thanks, _Mutti."_ Marina thought of her mother, confined to a wheelchair for almost fourteen years now. Did she ever wonder whether she could have become a ballerina herself if her life had turned out differently?

At the train station, she said goodbye to Martin and greeted her grandmother. Zoya embraced her, and the young girl smelled her perfume. On the train, Marina looked out the window, waving and blowing kisses to Martin until she couldn't see him anymore.

During the flight to New York, Zoya told her granddaughter about her own youth. "I began training with Madame Nostova in St. Petersburg when I was five years old," she said. "I always dreamed of running away to the Maryinsky. Then the Revolution happened, and we had to flee to Paris. My grandmother and I lived in a small apartment, and I danced for Diaghilev to support us."

Marina had always loved her grandmother's stories. She tried to imagine what it must have been like to live in Russia when there was still a Tsar, to be able to visit the Alexander Palace as if it were just like popping in to see a neighbor. Those days were gone forever, Marina knew, their memory kept alive only in the hearts of her Romanov cousins.

In New York City, they took a cab to a diner to eat, and then Zoya took Marina to see the New York branch of Countess Zoya. After looking around inside the store, they went to a motel to spend the night, planning to go to Julliard the following morning.

That night, Marina had a dream in which her distant cousins Olga, Tatiana, Maria, Anastasia, and Alexei were children again. A grand ball was being held in the Alexander Palace; many Russian noblemen and ladies were there, and 'Once Upon a December' was playing as Anastasia danced with her father, the Tsar. Marina's grandmother was there too, looking as she had when she was young, her dark, rich red hair cascading over her shoulders.

The following day, her confidence began to waver as she and her grandmother approached the imposing building. Watching the many other young people entering and exiting its doors made her feel tiny, like one lone ant in a giant bed. Determined not to let her insecurity show, she held her head high as she marched into the school with her grandmother.

At the entrance, a large sign on a plackard gave directions. Zoya and Marina walked down a long hallway to the room where the ballet auditions were being held.

The room was large and well lit, with floor length windows on one side. A barre went all along the wall on each side, and Marina saw dozens of young women around her age dressed in leotards and tights, like she was.

By the time Marina's turn came, her palms were sweating and her mouth felt as dry as paper. Ignoring the discomfort, she concentrated on her moves, performing them just as she'd rehearsed them for ages, and when she was finished, the room erupted in applause as she rushed to her grandmother's side.

"Did I do all right?"

"You did marvelously, dear," Zoya assured her. "I'm so proud of you!"

* * *

Marina returned to Julliard in late August as a full-time student. When the letter had come, she'd held her breath as she'd opened it, letting out a 'whoosh' of joy when she'd seen that she'd been accepted. Martin and Sasha had been happy for her as well, and the night before her departure, the family had gone out for a celebratory dinner. Tears had been in Sasha's eyes as she'd said goodbye to her older daughter, and Martin had given her an extra-long hug at the airport.

The flight to New York and taxi ride to the dormitories were uneventful, but once Marina was inside the large building, she felt lost until she heard someone call her name and turned to look into Sasha's smiling face.

"Our dorm's this way," the older girl told her. "Come on. I'll help you unpack."


	39. All Grown Up Now

Marina did exceedingly well at Julliard, far surpassing even her grandmother's expectations. Sara graduated in June. She'd already accepted a position with the New York Philharmonic Orchestra, and her cousins Michael Romanov and Matthew Hirsch drove from Cambridge to watch her graduate. Marina was there as well, of course.

After the ceremony, light refreshments were served under a tent in a grassy area near the stadium, and Marina chatted with Michael and Matthew. The conversation turned to politics.

"I sure hope Kennedy wins the nomination next month," Michael remarked. "We need someone who will take a tough stand against the Reds, and I believe he's the man."

"My mother and I support him as well," Matthew agreed.

"I've heard of him, but I don't know much about him," Marina confessed. "I've been so focused on my dancing, I haven't paid much attention to anything else."

"He's a senator from Massachusetts," Michael told her. "He's young, only forty-three. He's been a senator for seven years, and he was an American congressman for six years before that. He's a strong supporter of the civil rights movement."

"What's that?" asked Marina.

"In some Southern states, colored people are treated like second-class citizens," Matthew explained. "They have to drink from separate water fountains and give up their seats on buses to white people, and their kids have to go to separate schools, too. We believe Kennedy will change all that."

Marina remembered the 'whites only' sign she'd seen in the store in Palm Beach. "I know what you're talking about!" she exclaimed. "I wish I was old enough to vote!"

Later, she flew back to Europe, then took the train to Darmstadt. "In America, they're going to have a new President in November!" she exclaimed to Martin after he'd greeted her. "Matthew and Michael hope it's going to be John F. Kennedy. He wants to protect the world from the Communists and help the colored people in America. You know how we've always been so afraid because of East Germany being right next to us? Well, now America has a Communist country right next to it, too. It's called Cuba, and it's run by a really scary man called Fidel Castro. If John F. Kennedy gets to be President, he'll take care of the Communists so we won't have to be afraid anymore."

Martin laughed. "I see we have a budding social activist on our hands."

"What?"

He only chuckled as he ruffled her hair.

All through the summer, she struggled to keep up with the news in America. She dashed to the television every time a news program was on, and when Martin brought in the newspaper every morning, she pored over its contents. In July, she rejoiced when Kennedy won the nomination as the Democratic candidate for the Presidency, and in August, she was excited as she flew back to New York for her second year at Julliard.

At first it seemed strange for Sara not to be there, but she soon became friends with her new roommate, a girl named Kelly. When November arrived, she thought of Matthew and Michael going to the polls and once again felt frustrated over her inability to join them. The following morning, she and many others were thrilled about the election's outcome, and on January 20, her eyes were glued to the television as she watched the new President being sworn in. The words "Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country" resonated through her mind over and over as she went to sleep that night.

A year after Sara's graduation from Julliard, Matthew and Michael graduated from Harvard. Zoya, Alexei, Rachel, and Alena flew in from Paris for the ceremony, Zoya stopping briefly in New York to pick her granddaughter up before continuing on to Cambridge. Marina hadn't seen her distant cousins in a very long time and greeted them warmly.

"You've grown up to be such a beautiful young woman!" Rachel exclaimed as she embraced the fifteen-year-old girl. "The last time I saw a photograph of my nephew Matthew, I couldn't believe how much he'd grown, either."

Marina heard the note of sadness in her voice. Alexei and his wife had only seen Matthew Brown, who was now sixteen, a handful of times. His mother had remarried in 1950, and he was closer to his stepfather's family than to that of the father he'd never known.

At twenty-four, Alena had grown to be a lovely young woman who strongly resembled all four of her aunts, the former Grand Duchesses. She looked most like Maria, and her personality was most like that of the former Tsar's third daughter as well. She was married to a descendant of Louis XV, and she was expecting their first child in October.

The four of them remained in the United States to attend the wedding of Nicholas Andrews. His bride's name was Julie, and she was an attorney who'd helped Kennedy to become President, which made her a heroine in Marina's eyes.

That summer, Marina had the honor of being asked to dance at the Lincoln Center. The next couple of years seemed to fly by, and almost before she knew it, she was graduating from Julliard herself. Martin, Sasha, Clayton, and Anna all flew from Europe to attend the ceremony, as did Zoya and Paul. Sasha watched with tears in her eyes as her older daughter walked to the front to receive her diploma.

"I'm so proud of you!" she exclaimed as Marina embraced her afterwards.

"I've been invited to perform at various places around the country, so I won't be returning to Germany with you, not any time soon, at least," Marina told her. "I hope you understand."

"Of course I do, darling." A tear rolled down Sasha's cheek. "You're all grown up now. It's time for you to spread your wings and fly."


	40. Shocking News

Marina turned to her Uncle Nicky and Aunt Julie, who was holding baby Zoe, Marina's only first cousin on her mother's side. "We're all very proud of you," Uncle Nicky said as he embraced her. "How many colleges have you applied to? The competition to get into the best ones is pretty stiff, you know."

"I'm not going to college, Uncle Nicky," Marina told him.

 _"What?"_ The smile disappeared from his face as he gasped in shock. "But you _have_ to go to college, Marina! How will you ever make it in the world otherwise?"

"Leave her alone, Nicky." Julie placed a calming hand on her husband's arm. "College isn't for everyone. Marina's already chosen the path she wants her life to take."

Marina gave her aunt a grateful smile. "May I hold her?"

"Of course, darling."

Marina took the infant into her arms and held her close, relishing the faint aroma of milk and talcum powder. "Hi, Zoe," she said. Zoe looked up at her with her big blue eyes and gurgled.

Marina was dancing at the Hollywood Bowl when she turned eighteen in August. The company she was touring with presented her with a card signed by all the troupe members and a cake, and she also received a telephone call from her mother.

"Happy birthday, darling," Sasha told her older daughter. "We've been following your career since you graduated, and we're all so very proud of you. I can only imagine how hard you've worked to get to where you are now. How has your day been so far?"

"Really well. Everyone's been so kind. How's everybody back home?"

"We're all doing well. Clayton's just about as tall as your father now, and as fast as he keeps outgrowing shoes, we'll soon have to have them specially made for him. Anna's still as much of a sweetheart as ever, and she's doing well in school and earning new badges in the Girl Guides. Everyone sends their love."

"Tell them I send mine as well."

November 22 started out as just an ordinary day for Marina. She was in Cambridge, dancing 'The Sleeping Beauty' with a visiting troupe. She was just finishing rehearsals for the day when a stage hand burst into the room. "The President's been shot!" he cried.

Marina and the other dancers followed him to the break room, where a large number of people were already crowded around the television. Stunned, Marina could only stare at the screen, on which a motorcade proceeded down a street in downtown Dallas, Texas. A few seconds later, the face of an emergency room physician at Parkland hospital filled the screen.

"The President was admitted a few minutes ago," the physician said into the microphone held by the reporter. "He was unconscious and was bleeding severely from two bullet wounds, one to the back and one to the head. It doesn't look good at all."

Following was a lengthy discussion of President Kennedy's flight from the Carswell Air Force Base in Fort Worth to the Dallas Love Field Airport that morning and the route from the airport to the luncheon planned to take place at the Dallas Trade Mart, a luncheon he would never attend. Marina lost all track of time as she focused on the broadcast, which eventually announced that the program was being switched over to the White House, where Acting Press Secretary Malcolm Kilduff stated that the President had been pronounced dead.

Hysterical weeping broke out in the packed room, and mayhem reigned as some continued to stare at the screen while others rushed about, darting in all directions. Tears streamed from Marina's eyes, and her feet seemed to have a mind of their own as they dashed down the hallway, stopping when her body slammed into that of another.

"Do not cry, little one." A soothing voice in an accent that sounded like her grandmother's addressed her. "It will be all right."

Startled, she looked into the clear blue eyes of a young man who was perhaps a year or two older than her. He had medium length light brown hair, and his body was lithe and trim, with not an ounce of fat anywhere. He was obviously a member of the visiting dance troupe.

"I have to call my grandmother - the President - " A fresh wave of sobs overcame her, and the young man put his arm around her shoulder and led her to a sofa chair.

"There, now. It can't be all _that_ bad. There's a telephone in that office right over there. I'll help you call your grandmother."

"But she's in Paris!"

"That's all right. We'll use the international code." He continued to rub her back until she'd calmed down enough to stand, then led her into the office, where he helped her call Zoya.

* * *

"I can't _believe_ it!" Nicholas exclaimed as he laid the newspaper on the table.

"What happened?" asked Anne as she sat a bowl of oatmeal on the table in front of seven-year-old Nicole, who was still yawning and rubbing her eyes.

"The President of the United States was murdered yesterday," Nicholas told her. "It happened about nine o'clock our time, but of course it would have been the middle of the day over there. He was riding in a motorcade in Dallas, Texas when some nut job shot at him from a book depository, or something like that. His name was - " He snatched the newspaper from the table and glanced at it. "Lee Harvey Oswald. Crazy."

"He was a good man." Anne's voice was quiet. "He was a strong supporter of Israel."

"What's it mean, Mama?' Nicole was now fully awake, and her voice was tinged with fear.

"It happened far away from here, in America," Anne told her. "There's nothing to worry about. We're all safe."

Nicole's attention returned to her breakfast as Anne's eyes met those of her husband, and he gave her hand a comforting squeeze.


	41. New Friends

On May 1, 1967, Elvis Presley married Priscilla Beaulieu in Las Vegas. Marina, who by then had danced all over the world and even been to Russia, barely even noticed. Later that same month, Wilhelm had a serious discussion with his father while they worked on the family car together.

"Syria is mobilizing troops against Israel," he said as he looked under the hood. "President Nasser has troops in the Sinai Peninsula, too. They're trying to block Israel's access to the Red Sea. Mama's people are my people too, Papa, and I must go help them."

Peter emerged from beneath the car, his face smudged with black grease. "You're German, not Israeli. You have no business over there."

"You were occupying Paris when you were my age. What business did you have there?"

"That was different, and you know it! I was heeding the call of my Fatherland, not interfering in a conflict between two foreign countries."

"Mama's people are my people, too," Wilhelm repeated. "And from now on, I want to be called Shlomo, not Wilhelm."

"Call yourself whatever you want, but you don't have my permission to leave the country."

"I'm an adult. I don't need your permission."

Shlomo found his mother to be more sympathetic to his cause. "Your father's only worried for your safety," she told him. "He's seen the devastation of war with his own eyes. He doesn't want you bleeding to death on the land of a country far from home, or imprisoned and forced to work like a slave in hazardous conditions. He was in the Rheinwiesenlager, you know. He saw terrible things while he was there, and he doesn't want anything like that to happen to you. You're safe here."

"Safe, my ass! With East Germany less than four hundred kilometers away? I'd rather die defending my people than get blown up by the Communists!"

"You don't even know Hebrew, Wilhelm. How could you ever expect to get along?"

"I told you, Mama, call me Shlomo now. I still remember the little bit of Hebrew you taught me while we were growing up, and I'm a fast learner."

"I love you, son, and I want you to do what makes you happy, but it's going to be so hard to say goodbye to you, not knowing whether I'll ever see you again!"

"I know, Mama." He embraced her. "And I'll miss you and everyone else, too. It must be for you just like it was for _Oma_ when Papa went away to Paris."

At the airport, Margot bid her son a tearful farewell. "Please take care of yourself, and always remember, I love you more than anything else in the whole world."

"I will, Mama. I love you too."

After the airplane had departed, she began to cry, and Peter held her as Miriam stared forlornly after the departing airplane. She couldn't imagine what life would be like without her older brother around.

Emerging from the Ben Gurion Airport into the blazing sun several hours later, Shlomo found himself entering a whole new world. Soldiers in full uniform patrolled narrow dirt streets bordered by buildings made of stone, and men wearing long black coats and hats were interspersed with men and women in modern clothing. The blending of the ancient with the contemporary exhilarated him.

He located the recruitment station, then stood in line for hours, waiting to be processed. He'd collected his uniform and was on his way to the barracks when he collided with another young man who was walking in the opposite direction.

"Sorry - "

The other man scowled. "What are you doing here? You don't look Jewish. Your nose looks like it belongs on a Michelangelo statue. What's your name?"

Shlomo told him.

"Gaebel, eh? Your father's a kraut, isn't he?"

Anger surged through Shlomo. "My father's a good man!"

"Ha! Well, I'm about to fix that kraut nose of yours!"

Shlomo ducked in anticipation of the blow that never came. Instead, he heard a loud noise and then saw his would-be attacker lying on his back on the floor with another soldier standing over him.

"Wow." Amazed, he looked at the other soldier. "That's some swing you have!"

"Thank you." Shocked, Shlomo watched as the soldier removed her cap and her long, dark tresses fell to her shoulders. "Tirzah ben David. It's a pleasure to meet you." Her handshake was firm.

"Son of David." Shlomo grinned. "You look a lot more like the daughter of David to me."

She laughed, a soft, tinkling sound. "My father's name is actually Joab. You must be a new arrival. I don't think I've seen you before."

"Oh, sorry! My name is Shlomo Gaebel. I just arrived from Frankfurt."

Walking side by side, the two of them soon reached the men's barracks. "The evening meal's in about thirty minutes," Tirzah told Shlomo. "I look forward to seeing you there."

Shlomo barely had time to put his things away before it was time to head for the mess hall. After receiving his tray of food, he searched high and low for Tirzah, finally seeing her laughing with a couple of other soldiers. As he approached her, she smiled and slid over to make room for him.

"Shlomo, this is Nahum and Devorah," she said.

"So do you women fight right alongside the men here?" Shlomo couldn't hide his astonishment.

"Of course. We're a tiny country surrounded by enemies. We need the help of every able-bodied Israeli."

He nodded.

"So were you born in Frankfurt?"

"No. I was born in Bessungen, near Darmstadt in Hesse. My mother's Jewish. She was born in Frankfurt but spent most of her childhood in Amsterdam."

"Well, if your mother's Jewish, then you are, too. It doesn't matter what your nose looks like. I think it's a very cute nose."

Shlomo laughed, blushing. "Thanks. So where were you born?"

"Right here in Jerusalem," she told him. "I'm a _sabra,_ a prickly cactus."

"All three of us are," said Nahum.

"Tough on the outside, but sweet on the inside." Devorah winked at him.

As he continued chatting with his new friends, it wasn't long at all before Shlomo felt he was one of them.


	42. Shlomo's Decision

On June 5, Israel destroyed most of the Egyptian air force but was attacked by Jordan, Syria, and Iraq. Shlomo and Tirzah fought side by side along with the others. She was by far the most amazing woman he'd ever met. There wasn't the slightest thing unfeminine about her; she was warm, affectionate, and very attractive, yet at the same time, she was as tough, capable, and fearless as any man. During a break in the fighting, he asked her where she'd learned to shoot.

"In basic training after secondary school, just like everyone else," she told him. "Even before that, my father used to take me out for target practice when I was a little girl, along with my brothers."

"Wow! I can't even imagine my father letting Miriam handle guns."

"Your sister?"

"Yes. She's three years younger than me, and she's had our Papa wrapped around her little finger since the day she was born."

Tirzah laughed. "So is it just the two of you, then?"

"Yes. How many brothers and sisters do you have?"

"I have three brothers, one older and two younger. One of them was born May 14, 1948, the same day Israel became a nation. His name is Baruch. That means 'blessed'."

Two days later, Shlomo and Tirzah followed Lt. General Motta Gur through the Old City toward the Temple Mount and the Western Wall. When they reached it, General Rabbi Shlomo Goren sounded the shofar, and the troops reacted with shouts of jubilation. "The Temple Mount is in our hands!" rang out over and over as people sang, danced, and clapped their hands. Shlomo saw that Tirzah's dark eyes were shining with joy.

"My mother will be so happy when I tell her," he said. "She was almost sent to a concentration camp during the war. My father and his friends smuggled her and her family into Paris just in time."

Tirzah frowned. "Why not Denmark or Sweden?"

"My father's friends lived in Paris. They were Russian expatriates. My mother's family pretended to be recently arrived relatives of theirs and so escaped capture."

"They were very fortunate."

"I know."

That night, Shlomo and Tirzah sat around a fire, and she told him about her family. "My grandfather was born in the Ukraine. His name was Igor Rubichenko. After a pogrom in which the rest of his family was murdered, he walked all the way to Palestine, working odd jobs, begging, and stealing along the way. When he got here, he changed his name to Tsion ben David and married my grandmother. My father grew up in a kibbutz and joined the Mossad Aliyah Bet as an adult. He helped Jews from all over the world come here after the war."

"What about your mother?"

"She was a member of the Palmach and volunteered on the kibbutz where my father grew up. They married after the war ended, and my oldest brother was born six months later."

Shlomo chuckled, recalling how his father had once told him that his Uncle Fritz had been born only six months after his grandparents had wed.

Several more days of fighting followed, and on June 10, Israel gained control of the Golan Heights, increasing her territory by a factor of three.

Shlomo wanted to remark to Tirzah that her country wasn't so tiny anymore, but he couldn't find her. In the post-war celebrations, he went from group to group asking about her, but no one had heard anything about her. At last he turned to the medic tents that had been set up to treat the wounded. After several hours, he finally heard news of her.

"She was flown to the hospital by helicopter," a medic told him. "She'd been struck by several bullets and was bleeding heavily. That was the last I heard of her."

Shlomo's feet seemed to have wings as he raced in search of a jeep or similar vehicle. Within a few minutes, he'd located a soldier who was willing to drive him to the hospital. Once there, he dashed into the emergency room, where pandemonium reigned. Stretchers bearing the wounded swept past him on the right and the left as he struggled to get his bearings.

After many hours of tense apprehension, he finally found someone who could give him an update on her.

"Her wounds have been bandaged, and her bleeding is under control. She's conscious but very tired and weak. She'll need to stay here several days until she gets her strength back."

He located her room and opened the door far enough to peek in. He saw that she was awake, so he opened the door wider and walked in. He grinned as he reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. "We did it!"

She smiled back. "Yes, we did." Her voice was barely a whisper.

* * *

At first, Shlomo delayed his return to Germany until he was sure Tirzah was going to be all right. After that, he delayed it for several more weeks while she showed him the many historical landmarks of Jerusalem; by the end of that time, he'd decided to postpone it indefinitely.

In July, he wrote a letter to his mother.

'Dearest Mama,

I am writing to let you know that I have decided to stay in Israel. After the war and all the events that have transpired since, I feel that it is truly my home, that I am meant to live here.

I have made many Israeli friends, one of whom had become very special to me. Her name is Tirzah, and she's a beautiful young lady whom I met upon my arrival here. I could go on and on in listing everything I love about her, but I'd have to say the most important is the way I feel around her. When we're together, it's like I've known her my whole life. I can tell her anything at all without feeling the slightest bit uncomfortable, and when I'm with her, hours seem to pass like minutes.

Please give Papa and Miriam my love. The three of you are always in my thoughts and I miss you very much, and I hope we'll be together again soon.

All my love,

Shlomo'


	43. Surprise Encounter

The following February, Elvis and Priscilla Presley's daughter was born and was named Lisa Marie. In April, Martin Luther King, Jr. was murdered, and in June, so was Robert Kennedy. Another year passed, and for her birthday, Marina was in New York City, visiting some old friends from her days at Julliard, when one of them mentioned an upcoming rock festival in Bethel.

"It's a couple of hours north of here," Marina's friend, an abstract artist who called herself Rainbow, told her. "Lots of hip musicians will be there: Jefferson Airplane, Joan Baez, Janis Joplin, the Grateful Dead - "

"I've never heard of any of those," Marina confessed.

"That's because you only dance to classical music," Rainbow replied. "You should try something new for a change, broaden your horizons."

"When I was a teenager, I loved American rock and roll," said Marina.

"Things have changed a lot since that old stuff was popular," Rainbow told her. "Haven't you even heard of the Beatles?"

"Of course! I haven't lived my whole life under a rock, you know!"

"Well, they started a whole new thing. There's a whole new sound now, sitars and other groovy new instruments. It's really psychedelic. When you listen to it you feel just like you're on a trip, although you don't go for that kind of thing, do you?"

"Of course not!" Marina snapped. "We dancers can't pollute our bodies in any way!"

Rainbow chuckled. "I wouldn't so much call it polluting your body as expanding your mind, but if you have to be square to be a ballerina, that's your thing."

"I don't care if I'm 'square'," Marina said hotly. "I wouldn't give up being a ballerina for anything in the world!"

Rainbow shrugged. "Whatever turns you on, man. But I still think you'll be missing out on a really cool experience if you don't come to this rock festival with us."

The next day, Marina found herself sitting in a traffic jam on Route 17 with Rainbow and her friends, Blade and Skeeter. "I don't know how I let you talk me into this," she grumbled.

"Chill out, man," Skeeter told her as he took a long, lazy drag on his cigarette. Although Marina had rolled down the back passenger window on the Volkswagen Beetle to help dissipate the fumes, she still started coughing. "Everything's cool."

At last they were riding along Hurd Road, constantly having to stop for pedestrians who were more strangely dressed than anyone Marina had ever seen. At last Blade parked the Beetle in the mud, and the group got out to continue the journey on foot. Marina wondered what they'd do if the tires turned out to be stuck in the mud.

As they climbed a hill and then began their descent, Marina felt as if she were going back in time a thousand years, except that instead of tents, campers dotted the landscape. Everyone was colorfully dressed in flowing robes, feathered headdresses, and beaded necklaces, bracelets, and sandals. The air was heavy with a pungent aroma. Marina knew what it was but didn't dare mention it.

In the area surrounding the huge stage, there was standing room only. Blade, Skeeter, Rainbow and Marina found a spot where they could comfortably huddle together.

Thunderous applause greeted the arrival of each new musician, and during breaks between concerts, the group sat on a patch of grass and talked. When they got hungry, they ate the sandwiches they'd brought along.

Later, Marina called her grandmother in Paris and told her all about it.

"It was the most exciting thing I've ever done!" she exulted. "I'd never seen such a big crowd in my life! And the music was just so completely different from anything I've ever heard before! There was this black guy, Jimi Somebody; he played the national anthem on electric guitar, and it was just amazing! I've never heard it played exactly like that!"

"I'll bet you were the oldest one there, weren't you?" asked Zoya.

"Rainbow and her friends are only a little younger than me, but yeah, there were a lot of teenagers there."

Zoya sighed. "You're twenty-four years old, Marina. Don't you think you're a little old for that kind of thing? Your cousin Alexei's nephew, Matthew Brown, is not quite a year older than you, and he's in Vietnam, trying to prevent the spread of Communism. You know his father, Rachel's brother, was killed during the Normandy Invasion, and now Rachel may lose her nephew, too."

"It's a stupid war, Grandmama. I'd join the protests and marches myself, except that I might get arrested and thrown in jail, and that would mean the end of my dancing career."

"I'm disappointed in you, Marina. You've been listening to your hippie friends. They think they know everything, but they don't."

"They know how terrible war is because they watch the news. They don't hide their heads in the sand like cowards."

"Do you think anyone knows more than me how terrible war is? Do you think I've forgotten about watching my only brother die, even after all these years? Yet sometimes it's a necessary evil. Communism is like a disease, a cancer spreading throughout the world. We have to do everything within our power to stop it."

The following month, Marina was getting ready to dance 'The Nutcracker' at the Metropolitan when she received distressing news. "Rudy has been rushed to the hospital with appendicitis," the director told her.

"Oh, no! I hope he'll be all right!"

"The last I heard, he'd been admitted to surgery. Fortunately, another dancer has agreed to take his place, so the performance can still go on."

"But Rudy and I dance so well together!" Marina groaned. "We've spent hours going through all the routines! How could someone I've never even danced with before just step in and take his place like that?"

"I'm told this new dancer is very talented and has built up quite a reputation for himself." The director smiled. "I think you'll be pleasantly surprised."

When Marina stepped onto the stage to see him waiting for her, she was shocked. It _couldn't_ be!

But it was - the same man who'd comforted her after Kennedy's death six years previously.


	44. The Defection

He smiled and reached for her, and she took his hand. As they twirled and spun together, Marina realized the director had been right: her new partner performed every step of the dance perfectly, as if he'd been practicing it as long as she and Rudy had. After the performance ended, the two of them bowed to thunderous applause, and ecstasy filled Marina's heart. She was dying to talk to the other dancer and get to know him.

Her chance came at a post-performance reception in the lobby. She entered to find him drinking champagne and chatting with a couple of other dancers. When he saw her, he smiled, excused himself, and walked toward her with another glass of champagne, which he handed to her. She thanked him.

"We put on quite a performance, did we not?" His voice was as smooth as silk.

Marina swallowed the lump in her throat and somehow found her voice. "I'm Marina."

"It's nice to meet you, Marina. I am Maxim Barsukov." If he remembered her, he gave no indication of it.

"You're a very good dancer, Maxim."

"Thank you, and you are as well."

"Thanks. I've been dancing since I was five. My grandmother danced for the Maryinsky Ballet in St. Petersburg, before the Revolution."

"Ah!" His eyes widened, and he smiled. "We have much in common, then. I began dancing as a young child as well. I grew up in Leningrad and entered the Vaganova School when I was sixteen. Later I joined the Kirov Ballet."

"I danced in St. Petersburg - Leningrad - too! I even got to see the Winter Palace!" She wondered whether she should mention that she was distantly related to the Romanovs and, in the end, decided not to, as she didn't want to sound like she was bragging.

Maxim nodded. "I can only imagine how glorious it must have been before the Storming in 1917."

Marina remembered the long-ago dream she'd had the first night she'd spent in New York City."I guess those days are gone forever."

"I'm so excited to be back in America again. There are just so many more opportunities here. You can use your creative talent to its fullest extent without having to worry about being censored."

Marina remembered how carefully the officials had gone through her luggage as soon as she'd arrived at the airport in Leningrad, searching for contraband books or magazines. "That's a real problem over there, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes. I once performed a Fred Astaire number and was threatened with arrest. I was never allowed to perform it again."

"What number was that?"

"'Never Gonna Dance' from 'Swing Time'."

Marina frowned. "What was so bad about that?"

Maxim shrugged. "Who knows? They probably thought it was some kind of tribute to Capitalism, which to them is a dirty word."

Marina took a sip of her champagne. "Well, what do you think about it?"

"I have nothing against Capitalism myself. It's just a different type of government, is all, and as I implied, it has certain advantages over Communism."

"I don't understand why your country's government is so - well, restrictive."

After a quick glance around to make sure nobody else was within earshot, Maxim leaned toward her as if he were about to whisper a confidentiality. "I think it's because if Soviet citizens found out how Americans really live, there'd be another Revolution and Brezhnev and his minions would be overthrown."

For the rest of the day, Maxim's words rang out over and over again in Marina's head. What would it be like to live in a country where you could be imprisoned simply for performing a dance number? She decided she didn't even want to think about it.

The following day, she received word that Rudy had undergone an appendectomy and was recovering well but would obviously not be able to dance for the rest of the performance. Marina and Maxim continued to dance together to rave reviews; they were often referred to as 'the next Rudolph Nureyev and Margot Fontayn.' Marina thoroughly enjoyed dancing with him and dreaded the end of the performance, when Maxim would return to the Soviet Union and she wouldn't see him again until the next time the Kirov Ballet toured the United States, if even then.

The last night of the performance, she went to bed with a heavy heart. She knew she'd miss Maxim's smile, his voice, his kindness, the rapport she'd shared with him. In just a few days, they'd become so close she felt as if she were losing a part of herself with his departure.

When she rejoined the other dancers the next morning, they were all abuzz about a mystery. "What happened?" she asked her friend Vanessa.

"Maxim Barsukov is missing," Vanessa told her. "When the Soviet troupe were about to leave, they couldn't find him. Everyone's saying he defected. That's all I know."

Please, dear God, let him be safe! she prayed.

She heard nothing else about him for almost a month, and then one night, she was preparing for bed when she received a telephone call.

"Marina? It's me, Maxim." Her heart almost stopped. "I just wanted to let you know I'm all right. The last night of the performance, I was able to dodge the escorts and sneak out a back door and into a waiting car. I've been here in upstate New York since then. An attorney friend of mine fixed the paperwork so I could stay here and travel freely around the country. Right after that, I joined the American Ballet Theater. We're scheduled to perform in Los Angeles next week. I'd love it if you could be there."

"Wow!" Marina was giddy with happiness. "It just so happens I have the next two weeks off, so I think that could be arranged."

"Wonderful! I can't wait to see you again."

"I can't wait to see you again, either."

 _"Proshchay, moya lyubov."_

As Marina said goodbye, she couldn't wait to tell Zoya Maxim could now stay in the United States for as long as he wanted, and she'd see him again soon.


	45. The Kitchen Boys

"Would you like to hear a story?" Anastasia asked Natalie. The little girl's parents, Nikita and Pauline, had taken her older sister, Jeanette, to the circus. Natalie, who'd awakened that morning with a sore throat and slight fever, had been left with her grandparents. Although she loved spending time with Dimitri and Anastasia, she was bitterly disappointed she'd had to miss the circus.

"What kind of story, Grandmama?" asked Natalie, her dull eyes brightening.

"It's about this music box." Natalie gasped as Anastasia lifted the music box from its special place on the shelf. Natalie, Jeanette, and their cousins had never even been allowed to touch it. "And what's more, it's true."

Anastasia sat on the bed beside her grandmother and gently swept the damp hair back from her warm forehead. "Did I ever tell you how I got it?"

Natalie frowned. "I don't think so."

"When I was a little girl just about your age, there was a big party at the Winter Palace to celebrate the Tricentennial of Romanov Rule. That meant my family, the Romanovs, had ruled over Russia for three hundred years! My whole family was there, and my Grandmama was there, too. She was visiting from Paris and would soon return home, and I was sad she was leaving. She gave me two presents to cheer me up: my necklace that says 'Together in Paris' and this music box.

We planned to visit her in Paris the following year, but it never happened."

Natalie saw the tears in her grandmother's eyes and was instantly concerned. "Why not, Grandmama?"

"An evil man named Rasputin put a curse on our family." Anastasia's voice was soft, but Natalie could hear the barely concealed anger in it. "My family was overthrown by the Bolsheviks, the Communists. They raided the Palace and took my family away. My Grandmama and I tried to escape on a train, but I fell down and lost my memory. I spent the rest of my childhood in an orphanage, but I never lost my necklace. When I was eighteen, I set off for Saint Petersburg in search of answers. Your Grandpapa came with me.

We didn't get along very well at first, but after surviving numerous scrapes and close calls together, we finally had to admit that we'd fallen in love. At last we reached Paris and found my Grandmama. At first she refused to see me, because after all those years, she couldn't believe it was really me, but when your Grandpapa showed her the music box, she realized it was true. Her granddaughter had been returned to her. My memory came back, and we had a joyful reunion."

"And did you and Grandpapa get married right after that?"

"Yes, but that's not even the best part of the story. When Rasputin found out I was still alive, he came after me and tried to kill me. I broke his reliquary and he died, but that's not all that happened. The breaking of the reliquary reversed the curse, and I got my parents and sisters and Alexei back. We've all lived happily together here in Paris ever since then."

"What's a reli - reli - "

"Reliquary. A magic bottle made of glass that had his soul in it."

Natalie's eyes grew wide. "His _soul?"_

Anastasia nodded. "That's why he died when it was broken."

Natalie shuddered. "That part's really creepy, but other than that, it's a good story, Grandmama. Will you tell me another, please?"

"Of course, darling. What kind of story would you like to hear?"

"How about when you and Grandpapa were little and played together in the Palace."

"Well, as you know, he was the kitchen boy, so he usually had a lot of work to do, but when he had an occasional afternoon off, he used to play with me and Alexei in the playroom. We were both several years older than my brother, and we used to tease him mercilessly sometimes. He'd line his toy soldiers up in a row, and we'd knock them all down and pretend we'd won the battle."

Natalie giggled. "I'll bet that really made him mad!"

"It did at first, but after awhile, he got used to it and started just ignoring us." She looked thoughtful. "My mother's family had a kitchen boy, too. His name was Fritz. Would you like to see a picture of the two of them together?"

"Oh, yes!"

Anastasia got her photo album out and opened it. "This photo was taken about twenty years ago. See, your Grandpapa's hair is still dark brown, and my own was still auburn back then." She touched her now-grey locks.

"I've never seen him with dark brown hair before! But the other man's hair is grey."

"Fritz is about twenty years older than your Grandpapa."

Natalie rested her cheek on one fist. "It must have been nice to live in a Palace and have servants."

Anastasia sighed, and Natalie could see the wistfulness in her eyes. "That was a long time ago, sweetheart. Times have changed, and we have to live in the present."

Natalie lay wide awake for a long time after that, thinking of balls, fancy dresses, glittering jewels, and tinkling music. Under her breath, she began to sing. "Dancing bears, painted wings, things I almost remember..."

Except that she _couldn't_ remember, of course, since she hadn't even been born yet. She could only imagine how splendid it all must have been.

She was lightly dozing when her parents and older sister came back from the circus. Jeanette was bursting with excitement.

"You should have seen it, Natalie! There was a tightrope walker, a girl who could bend her body all the way backwards, a guy walking around on tall stilts, swings high up in the air called a trapeze - all kinds of wonderful things!"

"That's nice," said Natalie. "Grandmama told me the story of how she got that special music box none of us are allowed to touch."

Jeanette grimaced. "You know I've never really been interested in all that long time ago stuff like you are."

"Do you feel all right, honey?" Pauline ran her fingers through her younger daughter's thick dark blonde hair.

Natalie yawned. "I guess so."

"We got you some things for later on, when you're feeling better." Pauline showed her daughter a bag of pink cotton candy, a candied apple wrapped in cellophane, and a box of cracker jacks."

"Thank you." Natalie hugged her grandmother goodbye, gathered up the treats, and left with her family. She knew she'd never forget this special day.


	46. Crossing The Border

Frightened but determined, a young man named Christoph Bietler rode his motorbike to the fence. When he reached it, he climbed off the bike and used his specially equipped boots to scale it. Someone shouted at him from a distance, but he ignored them. Reaching the top, one foot flew over it as he felt the burning pain in his thigh and knew he'd been shot. He lost his grip and plummeted to the rocky terrain below.

The next thing he knew, he was lying on something soft and staring up at a white ceiling with a rectangular light fixture. He heard the background chatter and realized he was in some type of building.

"Oh, good! You're awake!" The voice belonged to the loveliest young woman he'd ever seen. Blonde hair framed her comely face, and her blue eyes met his as she smiled at him.

"Where am I?" His voice was hoarse.

"The hospital in Hohegriess," she told him.

"Hohegriess!" Excitement surged through him. "So I made it?"

"You made it!" She smiled again, showing her dimples this time.

"I'm free!" he shouted, then discovered his body felt as if it were encased in concrete. "But why can't I move?"

"You're in a full body cast," the nurse explained. "You have gunshot wounds to the chest and thigh, and you also suffered numerous fractures when you fell from the fence.

"But I'm free? The _Stasi_ can't get me now?"

"No, they can't." The flash of anger on her face was quickly replaced by grim satisfaction. "Just rest now. You're going to be all right." Her fingers gently sweeping the hair back from his forehead took him back to childhood memories of warm broth and his mother's voice reading stories to him, and he was soon dozing peacefully.

* * *

As she'd watched the young man's broken body being brought in on a stretcher, Miriam Gretchen Gaebel had at first feared he was dead. She'd gone right to work struggling to stabilize his vitals, and when the crisis was over, she'd asked one of the ambulance crew what had happened to him.

"He crossed over from Quedlinburg," the young man had told her. "A border guard saw him climbing the fence and shot him."

Miriam had shuddered. Several months earlier, she'd accepted a position more than three hours' drive from her home because she'd wanted to live near the mountains and be able to go skiing anytime she wanted in the winter. She'd known that her new home was near the border, but Christoph was the first escapee she'd ever cared for, and her heart went out to him.

For days she'd tended to him, washing his hair, bathing him, and hoping to be there when he woke up, and at last her patience had been rewarded.

He was still asleep when her shift ended, and she called her mother very soon after returning to her small apartment. "Christoph woke up today!" she announced as soon as Margot answered the telephone.

"That's wonderful!" Margot had been almost as anxious about the young man's welfare as her daughter had been. "So there's no permanent damage, then?"

"It's really too soon to know for sure," Miriam replied. "He has a long road ahead of him. When his fractures heal and he's out of the cast, he'll have to learn how to walk all over again. He won't be able to leave the hospital for a very long time."

"Did I ever tell you how badly I wanted to grow up to be a nurse when I was a little girl?" asked Margot. "I wanted to take care of babies in Israel. It was called Palestine back then, but I hadn't quite finished growing up when the war happened." She sighed. "I'm ever so glad you have the opportunity now to live out my dream, Miriam."

"How's Willi?" She could never remember to call her brother 'Shlomo.'

"He and Tirzah are doing very well. The war ended the twenty-fifth of October, you know. The Egyptians got part of the Suez Canal back, but at least Shlomo survived without injury. He just called us a few days ago. He said Binyamin's growing like a weed, and he'll have a new baby brother or sister in a few months."

"That's great!" Miriam couldn't wait to tell her friends at work the happy news.

The following day, she entered Christopher's room to find him fully awake and being spoon fed by another nurse.

"Good, you're here," said the other nurse. "I was supposed to get off five minutes ago."

Miriam saw Christoph's brown eyes light up as she took the other nurse's place, and it filled her heart with song.

"How are you doing today?" she asked as she fed him a spoonful of soup.

"Much better!" he exclaimed. "I'm so happy to be here I don't even mind this cast!"

"Is it very terrible on the other side?" asked Miriam.

"It's dreadful! You can't do anything or go anywhere without having to worry about being spied on and turned in to the _Stasi._ And you wouldn't believe the shortages! You have to stand in line all day long for basic necessities like toilet paper." His eyes held a faraway look. "My grandfather remembers what it was like before the war, when the country was still unified. Berlin had no wall. You could cross from the east to the west any time you wanted."

"So does my grandfather!" said Miriam. "I remember how, when my brother and I were little, we used to visit our grandparents, and they'd tell stories of what life was like in the old days. I guess those days are gone forever."

"Maybe someday, if the right leader comes along, they can be that way again," Christoph suggested.

"He'd have to be an extraordinary leader," Miriam replied, and Christoph nodded in agreement.


	47. Bad Russians And Good Russians

One brisk spring evening in 1975, Zoya returned home from work with an extra spring in her step. "Paul!" she cried as soon as she was inside the house. "You won't believe this! Since Matthew added the new perfume to our inventory, our sales have doubled! Paul?"

Her heart began to pound faster as she made her way into the living room to find her husband lying back in the recliner. She went to him and shook his arm. "Paul!"

"Huh?" His eyes blinked open, startled.

Relief swept over Zoya. "I wanted to share the good news with you. You remember the new perfume Matthew introduced last year? Well, our sales have doubled since then!"

"That's nice." She heard the weariness in his voice as the foot rest came down. "I'm sorry, Zoya. It isn't that I'm not happy for you - for _us._ It's just that tonight I feel so - _tired!"_

Zoya's brows furrowed. "Should I call the doctor?"

Paul waved a dismissive hand. "No doctor. All I need is a good night's rest. I'll be fine in the morning."

As the pink fingers of dawn snaked over the horizon the following morning, Zoya awakened and prepared breakfast. She set two places at the table and, not waiting for her husband, ate her breakfast and dressed. When Paul still hadn't come to the table by the time she was about to walk out the door, she went to check on him one more time.

She found him lying on his back in bed, one arm thrown over his head. A cold, clammy hand squeezed the bottom of her spine as a decades-old memory flooded her mind. _Clayton._

Trembling, she went to him and touched his arm. Its skin felt cool - _too_ cool.

"Paul?" He remained still, and his eyes stayed closed. She looked to see if his chest was moving up and down. It wasn't.

"Oh, Paul!" She collapsed on the side of the bed and cried her heart out.

* * *

"Leningrad was built across the marshlands of the Neva river delta," the sixth grade geography teacher, Mrs. Platt, told her class. "It's interlaced with about a hundred tributaries and canals. The south embankment of the Neva river itself is physically dominated by the Winter Palace, the official residence of the Russian monarchs until it was stormed in 1917. Zoe, would you please pass these brochures out to the class?"

"Yes, ma'am." Zoe Andrews was about halfway finished passing the brochures out when a boy arrived from the main office with a dismissal slip for her. Still clutching them, she followed him back to the office, where she found her parents waiting for her.

"A family emergency has arisen," Julie told her daughter. "Your grandfather passed away in his sleep last night. We have to fly to Paris right away."

"Oh, no!" Zoe gasped. "Poor Grandmama!" Although she'd only seen Paul about half a dozen times in her life, she knew how devoted he and Zoya had been to one another.

Nicholas drove out of the school parking lot and headed for the airport. On the car radio, George McRae sang 'Rock Your Baby.'

"Aren't we going back home to pack my things first?" asked Zoe.

"I already packed them for you," Julie told her. After arriving at the airport, they were quickly processed and were on an airplane soaring high over the Atlantic Ocean by nightfall. Zoe looked at the brochures she was still holding, and after awhile, a smiling stewardess brought her evening meal. It turned out to be fish sticks and macaroni and cheese, but she hadn't had anything to eat since lunch time at school, so she gobbled it all down, including the applesauce and chocolate chip cookie.

She found it difficult to sleep lying back in her seat rather than in bed, and when they arrived in Paris, it was already the middle of the day. She looked around for her grandmother and saw her standing with Aunt Maria and Uncle Jules. The two women's arms were around one another.

"Grandmama!" Zoe ran to Zoya and wrapped her arms around her grandmother's waist, burying her face in Zoya's chest. Zoya stroked her back for a few minutes, then lifted the girl's chin to look into her eyes.

"Hello, Zoe! How's school going?"

"It's going great, Grandmama. We're learning about the Soviet Union in geography. Mrs. Platt gave us these brochures of Leningrad. See?"

She thrust the brochures into her grandmother's hand, and a moment later, Zoya was dabbing at a tear in the corner of one eye.

"The Alexander Palace - I remember it so well! Your Aunt Maria and I had such good times there! We're only two weeks apart, you know, and to me, she was the sister I never had. How I miss those days!"

Zoe looked from her grandmother to Aunt Maria. She couldn't imagine either of them ever being young.

"I was at school when they told me about Grandpapa. I know we were planning on me spending the summer with you, but this way, I get to see you even sooner. That's so sad about Grandpapa, though."

"He lived a full life, sweetheart. He was eighty-six when he passed, and he's in a better place now."

"Are Russians really scary, Grandmama?"

Zoya burst out laughing. "I'm Russian. Am I scary?"

"Of course not! I'm talking about the Russians there now - the Communists. Is it true they plan to bomb the United States?"

"Of course not, darling. If there was a nuclear war, they'd all die, too. There are bad Russians and good Russians, just like there are bad Americans and good Americans."

Zoe let out a sigh of relief. "I'm glad!"


	48. The Funeral

Zoe's heart was filled with trepidation as she entered the chapel. She'd never seen a dead person before. Clumps of relatives, most of whom she'd never seen before, stood around, and Paul lay in his casket at the front. She could see his face and his hands crossed over his chest but nothing else. She gave an involuntary shudder.

Suddenly Aunt Maria was there, propelling her forward with a hand on her shoulder. "You remember your Aunt Anastasia and your Uncle Dimitri, don't you? These are your cousins, Jeanette and Natalie."

Both girls had dark blonde hair and blue eyes. Natalie looked to be about Zoe's age, while Jeanette looked several years older.

"So you're our cousin from America," said Jeanette.

Zoe nodded.

"I've always wondered what it would be like to go there," Jeanette commented.

"And I've always wanted to come to Paris!" Zoe exclaimed. "I was going to come here to spend the summer with Grandmama, but then this happened, so I came a few months early. You know what I think would be really cool? I'd love to see the Alexander Palace where Grandmama and Aunt Maria and the others had so much fun. I want to go to Leningrad!"

The sisters gasped. "But the Communists won't let you in, will they?" asked Jeanette.

"I don't know," Zoe admitted. "But we can always try!"

"But what if you get in and can't get back out, or if you get thrown in prison?" asked Natalie.

"I'm not afraid," Zoe replied. "So what's it like here? Do you have 'Happy Days' on TV?"

"Heyy!" Jeanette gave a thumbs up in imitation of Henry Winkler.

"And 'Pink Panther' cartoons on the weekend?"

"And the 'Land Of The Lost' too!" Natalie exclaimed. "To the la-and of the lo-o-ost!" all three girls sang together. Anastasia frowned at them and shook her head.

"Sorry, Grandmama," Natalie whispered.

It was time for the funeral to start. Zoe sat with her parents toward the back of the chapel as the minister eulogized Paul, trying her best to look anywhere but at the open casket. When the ceremony was over, everyone filed past the casket, and Zoe finally got a good look at Paul's face. He looked just as if he was sleeping except that his skin was paler than normal and seemed waxy. She made a mental note to ask her mother about that later.

At the cemetery, the air was chilly, and a light mist was falling. Zoe stood with her parents and grandmother. Zoya kept dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. Zoe hugged herself and stared at the ground.

After the service, she rode with her parents to her grandmother's home, where they'd be staying until their return to New York. Over the next few days, the Andrews family toured the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, and other Paris attractions. On the night before they were to depart, Julie entered the guest bedroom in which her daughter had been sleeping.

"How would you like to finish the school year here in Paris?" she asked Zoe.

"Oh, yes!" the young girl exclaimed. "Can I really?"

"Your father and grandmother and I have discussed it," Julie replied. "We see no point in your returning to New York for a couple of months when you're planning to come back in the summer anyway. You can start school here on Monday, and we'll apply to have your transcript sent from New York."

On her first day of school in Paris, Zoe was thrilled to discover she and Natalie were in the same class. They whispered and giggled together so much the teacher had to separate them.

One day near the end of the school year, the two girls were eating lunch together when Natalie mentioned the Soviet Union again. "Have you talked to your grandmother about going there?" she asked.

"Not yet," Zoe told her. "I'll ask her when I get home this afternoon."

At the end of the school day, she bid her cousin goodbye and started home. It was a bright, sunshiny day, and the shadows of the leaves from the overhanging trees made interesting patterns on the sidewalk as she walked along. She arrived to find Zoya lying back on a beach chair, soaking up the rays.

"Hi, darling!" her grandmother cried. "Why don't you join me?"

Zoe fetched a beach chair and opened it beside her grandmother's, then lay back on it.

"How was school today?" asked Zoya.

"It was all right. Natalie mentioned visiting the Soviet Union this summer."

Zoya's brows furrowed. "I've been thinking about that a lot lately, too - ever since Paul passed. I know I'm not going to live forever, and I'd love to see the Alexander Palace one more time before I die."

"Aunt Maria and Aunt Anastasia would probably like to go back too, I'll bet."

"I don't know about that, Zoe. You know the Alexander Palace was their actual home, where they lived with their parents and siblings. The memory might be too painful for them."

"You told me Marina went there about ten years ago, before she got married."

"She went with a dance group. That was how she got in, just like Maxim got into the United States a couple of times before he defected."

"I remember Mom and Dad talking about that when I was about six, and now they have Martina, so I guess she'll probably grow up to be a famous ballerina, too."

Zoya laughed. "Considering who her parents are, how can she avoid it?"


	49. The Alexander Palace

After stepping off the airplane, the first thing Zoe noticed was how dark the inside of the airport was, how deserted the departure area seemed.

"This is really different from landing in Paris," she whispered to Natalie, who nodded. Right away, they were met by two young men wearing dark green uniforms and hats; one looked them up and down as if he was appraising a slab of meat at the butcher's while the other demanded to see their passports. After their passports and luggage had been scrupulously examined, they were taken downstairs, where they joined a couple dozen other people.

"Hello, and welcome to the USSR," announced a smiling blonde of about twenty-five. "My name is Xenia, and I'll be your tour guide. I hope you'll enjoy your stay with us."

She led the group to a nondescript bus, which they boarded and rode for half an hour to the motel. When they entered the lobby, Zoe couldn't believe her eyes. It was huge! Many other groups of all different nationalities stood around, each speaking in their own language.

When she finally received the key to her room, Zoya led the three girls down a long, curving corridor to it. It was dimly lit and held two double beds. After unpacking and putting away their luggage, they went downstairs to the cafeteria for dinner. There were long rows of tables that seated four apiece.

"Perfect!" Zoya exclaimed.

They sat down and were served water with a creamy salad. "It's quite good," said Jeanette. "What's it called?"

"Olivier salad," Zoya told her.

It would be nicer with tea or Coke, Zoe thought to herself.

After the salad came a meat-and-tomato-sauce dish Zoya called 'tefteli'. It was served with fried potatoes. Dessert was an apple-filled pastry she called 'pirozhky.'

"I haven't eaten like this in decades!" Zoya told the others.

At the end of the meal, the guests were offered a choice of coffee or tea. Zoe, who'd never drank hot tea with milk in it before, thought she and her cousins looked very grown-up as they sipped from their cups.

It was almost ten when they returned to their room, and as all four of them were very tired, they went to bed early. Snuggling beside her grandmother, Zoe was soon asleep.

Breakfast the following morning was delicious little dumplings Zoya called 'syrniki' which were served with jam and sour cream, and then they began their journey down Nevsky Prospekt, where they saw the Stroganov Palace, the Kazan Cathedral, and many other buildings. They crossed the Anichkov Bridge and passed bookstores and art galleries, finally reaching the Winter Palace. From there, it was a 38-minute ride to the Alexander Palace.

As soon as they got off the bus, Zoya's excitement turned to dismay. Although the building itself was still there, a huge sign in front read in Russian, English, and several other languages, 'Closed to the public.'

"What does this mean?" Zoya demanded. "This was the home of my cousins! Dozens of memories were made in this palace! How can it be closed?"

"After the Great Patriotic War, Comrade Stalin designated this building for the use of the navy." Although Xenia's voice was cold and professional, Zoe thought she saw a glimmer of sympathy in the young woman's eyes.

"But what about the priceless treasures it held?" Zoya's voice was shrill with panic.

Xenia's eyes became as cold as her voice. "All vestiges of Capitalist materialism have been either distributed among our many museums for the enjoyment of all Soviet citizens or put into storage."

"Oh, no!" Zoya began to cry.

Zoe embraced her. "It's all right, Grandmama. There are still lots of wonderful things to see here in Leningrad."

Zoya held her granddaughter close and continued to sob until Jeanette tugged on her arm. "It's time to get back on the bus now, Aunt Zoya."

Although the three girls enjoyed touring the museums and malls and tasting Russian ice cream for the first time, the light seemed to have gone out of Zoya's eyes, and when it was time to visit the memorial cemetery ("Half a million of this city's occupants died of starvation or disease during the three-year siege of the Nazis," Xenia told the group), her mood matched the surrounding atmosphere perfectly.

Later came a tour of the Peter and Paul fortress, which all four found quite gloomy, and then St. Isaac's Cathedral with its mosaic art, which they all enjoyed.

When it was almost dark, they rode back to the motel to spend the night before flying back to Paris the following morning.

* * *

"So tell me all about it!" Maria said to her cousin as she took a sip of tea with raspberry jam in it.

"It was nice," Zoya replied. "Much of the city is just as we remember it, and everyone was kind and helpful."

"Perhaps I should have accompanied you, after all," Maria mused. "So how does the Alexander Palace look now?"

A shadow crossed Zoya's face. She couldn't answer.

Maria frowned. "It _is_ still there, isn't it?"

Zoya nodded. "It's still there, but nobody's allowed inside. Stalin gave it to the navy."

"Stalin?" The former Grand Duchess's eyes blazed with anger. "How _dare_ he! That palace belonged to my family for more than a hundred years!"

"I was very disappointed when I wasn't allowed inside, but considering all its treasures were gone, perhaps it's best I wasn't."

"What happened to my family's treasures?" Maria's eyes were still blazing.

"They were either distributed among all the museums or locked away."

Maria gave a deep sigh. "I'm just glad my parents didn't live to see this day."


	50. Full Circle

Zoe enjoyed the rest of her visit with her grandmother and was disappointed when she had to board the airplane to return home.

"I really hate to leave, but my parents want me to go to seventh grade in New York," she told Zoya, Jeanette, and Natalie as she hugged and kissed them goodbye at the airport.

"Please call and let me know you made it back home all right!" begged Zoya.

"Of course I will." Zoe turned to Jeanette and Natalie. "You _will_ keep in touch, won't you?"

"Of course!" said Jeanette.

"We both enjoyed meeting you," added Natalie.

"I enjoyed meeting you both as well," Zoe replied.

Flying over the Atlantic Ocean sometime later, Zoe thought of all the exciting tales of adventure she had to share with her classmates back home.

* * *

Three months before Natalie graduated college, the newspaper's headline caught her eye. 'Gorbachev Becomes General Secretary of the Soviet Communist Party' it read. As her mind was on the upcoming Easter and her subsequent graduation, she shelved the information in the back of her mind.

She first began to hear the words 'Glasnost' and 'Perestroika' the following year, when she cut short her tour of Europe to return to the bedside of her grandfather, Dimitri, who was dying of pneumonia. She arrived in time to say goodbye to him and, as she'd been trained as a nurse, stayed on to care for her aging and increasingly feeble grandmother.

'Gorbachev and Reagan Agree to Eliminate All Nuclear Weapons' read a newspaper headline in October of that year.

One morning Natalie had even more good news. "They're opening the Alexander Palace as a museum!" she exclaimed. "They're moving the naval institution to another building and re-opening it to the public again!"

"That's wonderful!" Tears of joy sprang to Anastasia's eyes. She'd been just as disheartened by the previous news about the palace as her older sister had been.

At twenty-six, Natalie remained her grandmother's caregiver. Although many of her former classmates were marrying and starting families, she didn't feel that life was passing her by.

"I want to cherish the little remaining time I have with Grandmama," she told Jeanette, who was married and the mother of a toddler boy, and was expecting another baby soon. "Then when she's gone, I won't have any regrets."

One bright November morning, Natalie rolled Anastasia's wheelchair into the living room and turned on the television. Gunter Schawbowski was being interviewed at a press conference.

"Just let me know if you need anything," she told her grandmother before beginning to clean the house.

* * *

 _For those of you who may have been wondering what happened to the Romanovs between chapters 23 and 24 of 'Together in Paris', I hope this story satisfies your curiosity. I read the novel 'Zoya' by Danielle Steele and enjoyed it very much, but there were two things I didn't like about it. One was that Zoya had an affair with a married man, and the other was that I thought the end of the book was much too rushed. I decided to re-write about the last fourth of Zoya's story and combine it with that of the Romanovs, making her third great love a widower rather than a married man and slowing the pace of her latter years so they could be savored. Dimitri, of course, belongs to Fox/Don Bluth. Zoya, Clayton Andrews, Nicholas and Sasha Andrews, Simon and Matthew Hirsch, and Paul, Julie, Marina, and Zoe belong to Danielle Steele. The Romanov grandchildren and great grandchildren, the Gaebel family, Matthew and William Brown, the Barringtons, Tirzah ben David, and Christoph Bietler belong to me. Maxim Barsukov is based on an actual male ballet dancer, but since you can't write about real people, I changed his name and other details about him. For example, I made him five years older than in real life and his defection five years sooner than in real life, and in a different month. Everyone else belongs to actual history. I hope you all enjoyed my story.  
_


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